


I Am an Easy Mark (With My Broken Heart)

by TheDirtyBirdie-Archive (TheDirtyBirdie)



Series: Prompt/Request Fills [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ass to Mouth, Breathplay, Cock Worship, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, First Time, Hate Sex, Jealousy, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masochism, Mutual Pining, No Safeword, Organic Web Shooters, Polyamorous Background Pairings, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Sadism, Slow Burn, Underage Sex, Virginity Kink, Voyeurism, painal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-03-25 04:30:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13826526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDirtyBirdie/pseuds/TheDirtyBirdie-Archive
Summary: Tony isn't Howard. He's a better man, and more importantly, a better father than he ever was. Even through his divorce, he's proud of the way he's managed to persist for his boys, never letting himself be less than the best father to them he can be. He sure as hell can't let himself ruin it all now, not for anyone, and especially not for Peter Parker, a teenager and his sons' best friend, no less.A.k.a. Tony is a hot dad and Peter isinto it.Edit:This story is on a hiatus, possibly permanent. I've got the rest of the story outlined, I'm just not certain I'll get around to writing it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **READ THE TAGS**  
>  Please, seriously, I don't use archive warnings because they aren't specific enough and I have a lot of _very specific things_ that require warnings. 
> 
> So, in this story Tony is still Iron Man, he adopted Billy and Tommy when they were little after Wanda and Vision die/disappear. They know about their parents but still consider Tony their dad as they've been with him since they were tiny. Pepper is mom but she and Tony are fairly recently divorced. Peter is best friends with the boys, he's still Spider-Man (Tony doesn't know), very new to it, and pretty much a mess.  
>    
> For anyone not familiar with the Young Avengers, quite a few of them pop up in this story and I've made a [**super-brief, spoiler-free primer**](https://dirtybirdie.tumblr.com/post/171491415891/teeny-tiny-no-spoiler-side-character-primer) of everyone who appears. As for everyone else (Peter, Tony, Pepper, etc.) I wasn't picturing any particular iteration of the characters, so picture whichever you like best. Peter is 16, Billy & Tommy are 15.  
>   
>  Title is from [_Sixteen_](https://open.spotify.com/track/3A2cUmOFaynU4B5svsGE5V?si=tU1TjNn5RT6BFedAvGDI7w) by Iggy Pop because I am the Ultimate Trash.  
>   
>  This is a request fill for @tornwallpapersandhearts who pretty much gave me an excuse to write what I love, so? Thank you? [[1](https://dirtybirdie.tumblr.com/post/171380654506/the-tonyxpeter-fic-that-you-wrote-is-really-good)] [[2](https://dirtybirdie.tumblr.com/post/171383152431/wow-thank-you-so-much-for-granting-my-wish-can)]  
>   
> 

Some days, Tony thinks, his boys can be a little too much like him for their own good.

Today is definitely one of those days.

They’re not nearly as toxic as he was at their age, or any age, or even as he still is on his worst days, but in his defense, there was only ever one of him to deal with. When they get worked up, ricocheting back and forth and bringing out the worst in each other, it’s damn near impossible to put a stop to it.

No matter how many years go by, he always manages to feel a little inadequate in moments like these. Now that Pepper is gone, it’s even harder. Without the ability to divide and conquer deciding who to focus on first is truly being stuck between a rock and a hard place. He feels like a shitty father, no matter what. Like whoever he focuses on first, he’s putting too much blame on them and neglecting the other. He wonders if she ever feels the same.

He prays that they’ll grow out of it, but can’t help bitterly remembering that he certainly didn’t, not for a long time, or ever, depending who you ask. He has to remind himself that he’s no Howard, and the boys won’t be pushed the way he was, damaged the way he was, he’ll never be cold towards them the way his father was to him. Really, they’ve got plenty of time to grow, it’s just hard not to worry that he’ll manage to screw them up somehow in the meantime.

“ _Mr. Stark, Peter Parker has entered the lift and will arrive momentarily._ ”  
“Thanks, FRIDAY. Tell him to stop by the kitchen when he gets in.”  
“ _Of course_ _, Mr. Stark._ ”

Tony pulls himself from his position, slumped over the kitchen island where he’s been sulking, though he’ll never admit it, to sit up properly. Try and look at least a little bit dignified, like he’s giving the boys a bit of time to cool off in their rooms before he goes to talk to either of them, and definitely not hiding.

As pathetic as it may be, Tony is incredibly grateful for Peter’s timing. For the past couple years he’s been a surprisingly big help where the boys are concerned, though he suspects he hasn’t actually realized it. Tony is sure that in Peter’s eyes, he’s just being a good friend, sticking it out through thick and thin, the thing is that he doesn’t realize just how rare that is.

Honestly, the little ego boost he gets at the amount of hero worship in the kid’s eyes around him doesn’t exactly hurt, either. He’s pretty sure that’s not all that’s in his eyes, but, well, Peter’s a teenager, Tony wouldn’t expect much else. He _definitely_ doesn’t let his mind linger on it. Once upon a time, Peter might’ve been exactly the sort of trouble Tony would’ve gone looking for, just the right kind of scandalous to get him going. But, he’s older and wiser and Peter is just about the same age as his sons, he’s not going to be that man again.

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” Peter’s voice is as chipper as ever when he reaches the kitchen, eyes widening a little when they land on him. He must look a little more defeated than he means to, though Peter is, admittedly, a little too good at reading him for his own good. He puts it down to the fact that he’s been one step from living here for the last few years.

“Hey, kid. It’s a bit of a war-zone, right now, you might want to give it a while before trying to get them in the same room. You might end up a casualty.” He’s only mostly joking. The boys are pretty good about keeping control of their powers, but for Billy, especially, even a moment of lost control could prove pretty fatal for anyone around him, and if anyone is going to cause one in him, it’s Tommy.

Peter is one on a very small list of people who know about the boy’s powers. Being his sons already puts a pretty huge target on their backs and he and Pepper hadn’t wanted to make things any more dangerous for them than they already were. It’s entirely possible they’ve been a little overprotective at times, but after what happened to Wanda and Vision he feels pretty justified in it.

So, truthfully, he’d been pretty angry when he’d found out they told him. He’s well aware of how hypocritical it had been, but that hadn’t stopped him. Two shamefaced thirteen year olds looking at him with identical puppy dog eyes- a complete put-on- and confessing that they’d told their tutor, a gangly, awkward fourteen year old kid that their school had recommended, about their powers had been far from ideal.

But, once again, his boys had proven they had their heads screwed on straighter than he ever had at their age, because here Peter still is. A little less awkward, a lot less gangly, and loyal to a fault.

Peter laughs off his warning.  
“I’ll be fine, Mr. Stark. I’m tougher than I look.” He grins. There’s something a little private about it, like he’s sharing an in-joke with himself, and Tony has to admit he’s a little curious what it means. Still, he’s got bigger things to worry about right now.  
“Uh huh. I’m sure you are, kid.”

Peter rolls his eyes at his tone, but when he heads down the hall towards the boy’s rooms FRIDAY informs him he’s chosen to visit Tommy first. Smart kid. He’s got better control of his powers, which are, admittedly, much safer to begin with, and petty fights like this tend to roll off his shoulders pretty quickly and easily once he’s found something more interesting to occupy his time.

He knows his time stalling is done, now. Hopefully Billy’s managed to cool down a little rather than work himself further into a rage. The latter doesn’t happen too often, but now and then he tends to spiral. Tony gets up, scrubbing a tired hand over his face, and heads down the hall.

* * *

* * *

Tony leans against the frame of Billy’s door and knocks.

“It’s me.” He calls.  
“Who else would it be.” Comes Billy’s sullen reply, muffled by the door. Tony can already hear the sulk in his voice and he can’t help smiling. Billy’s sulking habits haven’t changed all that much since he was about four years old, and it’s almost cute enough to balance out how exhausting it is. Almost. He clears his throat.  
“Can I come in?” Tony waits, and for a moment it’s starting to look like he’s going to be ignored, but then-  
“Whatever.” He keeps the triumphant feeling that sweeps through him purely internal and schools his face before opening the door. God forbid he doesn’t look like he finds the situation every inch the dire travesty it so clearly is, there would be hell to pay.

When he shuts the door behind him Billy’s sitting on the bed with his back to him, legs pulled up to his chest like he’s trying to close himself off as much as possible. Tony makes his way over to the bed and sits down next to him, smoothing a hand between his tensed shoulders. If he were Howard, this would be the part where he tells him why it’s his fault, for being so reactionary, so childish, for talking back.

It might be true, in part, that Billy enables Tommy to rile him up so easily, but it takes two and Tony isn’t going to place all the blame on his shoulders.

“You alright, kid?” For a moment, Billy freezes, then some of the tension visibly seeps out of him, Tony can feel him slump further into his knees under his hand.  
“I just don’t get why he has to be _such an asshole_ .” Billy groans.  
“Hey, now.” Tony chastises, but Billy just looks at him like he’s daring Tony to really try and be taken seriously over one swear when they both know much worse has been said in the past.  
“Fine.” Tony sighs. “Look, I know your brother can be-”  
“The worst?”  
“ _Difficult_.” Tony corrects, giving him a look. “But like it or not you’re stuck with each other. I know it might seem impossible, but one day you guys are gonna be all each other have, and you’re gonna be glad to have him around.” Billy scoffs, pointed, and Tony bites back a grin and his stubbornness.

“Now, I’m going to talk to your brother about picking fights-”  
“Yeah, cause that always does so much good.” He spits, Tony sighs and wraps his arm around his shoulders, jostling him and pulling him into his side.  
“Come on, work with me a little, please?”  
“Hmph.”  
“Great. I’m going to talk to him about picking fights, because yes, I know he likes to get you riled up, but you’ve got to promise me that you’re going to try and be a little more patient with him, alright?” As he says it, Tony prides himself for not wincing when he can already hear the protests coming.

“What?! Why would I have to be patient? He’s the one who-”  
“You, Mr.” Tony looks down at him pointedly. “Tend to start looking for excuses to snap at him when you’re frustrated, and I think you know it.” Billy looks like he wants to argue, but settles for a dissenting grunt, looking away from Tony again, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Besides,” Tony starts, trying to think of a way to say this delicately. “I know it’s hard to see past how frustrated he makes you, but your brother does a lot of the things he does because he looks up to you, kid.” Billy looks up at him like he’s trying to convince him the sky is purple, then outright laughs.  
“Yeah, sure. That sounds realistic.”

“No, hey. Listen, seriously, what you can do with your powers, it’s pretty amazing.”  
“That’s not _looking up to me_ , that’s being jealous of me.”  
“Well, to an extent, maybe. But it’s also looking up to you because he knows you deserve them. You’ve got all these big plans about what you’re going to do with those powers when you grow up, and I don’t think anyone believes that you’re going to get it right more than he does.”

Billy is looking a little more hesitant now, less full of anger.  
“That still doesn’t make it okay.” He grumbles.  
“No, it doesn’t. You’re right. I don’t want you to think I’m saying that, just… something to keep in mind. One day, you’re going to need to start supporting each other more than you fight- and yes, I will tell this to your brother, too- and I just figured remembering that might help you get there. That’s all, kid. I promise, I’m not trying to lay a guilt trip on you.”  
“Hmmm.”  
“I swear.” Tony promises.

He stays there a while, keeping Billy close and making sure he takes a few minutes to let him know he’s not alone, even if he’s still mad. When enough time has passed, he drops a kiss into his hair. “I love you, alright? I promise this is going to get easier.” Billy nods into his chest.

“Thanks, dad. I love you too.”

Once Tony’s left the room, he leans against the wall for a moment, collecting himself. He did good. He _is_ a better man than his father ever was where it truly counts. When he’s had a moment, he pushes off the wall and heads for Tommy’s room. There’s no one there, and instead he finds Tommy and Peter in the games room that has been specifically designated for the boys, eyes glued to the screen and controllers in their hands while they jostle each other and toss colourful but playful insults at each other the way only teenagers can get away with.

Draped over the back of the couch is an old t-shirt that both Billy and Tommy routinely insist is theirs, there’s not even anything special about it but it’s the one that had set off the whole stupid fight in the first place. Tony clears his throat, fully intending on commending Tommy for being the bigger man and offering the shirt up for a truce, but he doesn’t even glance away from his screen. If anything, his eyes narrow as he focuses on it even more intently. Go figure.

He clears his throat again, more pointed, and Peter gives Tommy a sharp elbow in the ribs that makes him yelp. 

“It’s whatever.” He grumbles. “Just a stupid t-shirt, anyways.”  
“ _Just a stupid t-shirt._ ” Tony mutters in disbelief. He didn’t think he was loud enough for them to pick up on it over the noise of the TV, but he sees Peter bite back a grin when he says it and has to draw his eyes away from his lips before he starts to feel like a dirty old man. Again. He finds himself fighting that feeling quite a bit, around Peter.

Before his mind can travel any further down that particular beaten track, the emergency alert on his phone goes off. The boys already know it well, but the way Peter perks up immediately, looking just this side of harried, is new. He was intending to Pull Tommy away to talk, he really was serious when he told Billy he’d be hearing the same thing, but it looks like it’s going to have to wait.

“Alright boys, I’m off. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Or-”  
“Anything you would do, yeah, dad, we know.” Tommy rolls his eyes and Peter jumps up off the couch.  
“Hey!” Tommy protests loudly as he abandons their game.  
“I’ll be back!” He promises, following after Tony in a hurry.  
“Um-” He starts, a little awkward as he does his best to keep up with Tony, as though he’s just realized that the way he’s behaving is a little weird.  
“Spit it out kid, you’ve got about fifteen seconds.” Tony says once they reach the elevator.

“Did they say what the alert was for?” That’s...not exactly the most suspicious question, but he’s not sure why Peter couldn’t have just waited a few minutes to see whatever it is pop up online, if it hasn’t already. “I just want to know if I should be worried.” He amends, reddening about half a second after he’s said it. “About May! Not about you- not that I wouldn’t worry about you? Just, I know you can obviously take care of yourself, you know, you’re Iron Man, so what would I ever-”

“Jesus, Peter.” Tony grabs him by the shoulder as the elevator opens, dragging him out of it. He wants to be comforting, he does, but he’s also got places to be.  
“Breathe, kid. It’s just some powered up nut giving the police a hard time over on Staten Island. Nothing major, just safer if I deal with it.” He gives him his best reassuring-dad smile, but that only seems to make Peter’s eyes go wider. He hasn’t missed the way Peter hasn’t made a sound since he put his hand on his shoulder, but he hasn’t got time to worry about it now.

It looks like Peter is about as reassured as he’s going to get for the moment so Tony steps back and pushes the button on his wrist, the cue for his armour to unfold from his limbs so he can blast into the sky from the balcony.

“Stay safe!” He hears Peter calling as he flies away.

* * *

* * *

By the time Tony gets home he’s just about ready to fall over, as it turns out he’d downplayed the threat a little more than even he had realized. He’s not sure what time it is, not sure he wants to, considering what time he has to be up, but the sun is creeping up over the surrounding buildings. When he passes the games room he finds that all three boys are sacked out on the couch, a couple decimated pizza boxes strewn over the table in front of them. It’s a little sweet.

If he were a little more alert he probably would’ve noticed Peter’s eyes following him out of the room. As it is, though, he heads blearily on to his study, unaware of being watched.

He doesn’t use his study particularly often, only when he wants to truly relax. When he feels he can afford it, maybe even deserves it. This room contains nothing to do with Stark Industries, the Avengers, his divorce, or the more miserable bulk of his childhood. Just the best parts of his parents, his boys, and one or two photos of he and Rhodey back in the day. He thinks one day he’ll be able to put some pictures of he and Pepper with the boys back up, after all they may never go back to what they were but she was certainly one of the best things in his life for a long, long time. For the time being, though, it’s still a little too fresh for the sting of it to be outweighed by the good memories.

The most notable piece of nostalgia is the large, oak desk positioned right in the centre of the room. It was the desk that had sat in his father’s own personal study, rather than his office, and one of the only things that ever made him feel approachable. It’s surprisingly far from the ostentatious tastes Howard had already made himself known for by the time he’d acquired it, and he knows he used it at some point in the war. Some rare period during it that there had been time enough to set up shop somewhere.

When Tony had been around, he’d only ever used it for working on passion projects, never work, never Stark Industries. He’d always been more relaxed when he was sitting at it, sometimes bringing Tony up onto his lap to explain what he was doing, it always felt like being let in on a secret. He’d treasured those times. They’d grown rarer as the years went on, less time for passion projects, less time for home, less time for him.  

He pours himself a scotch, on the rocks, from the cart by the desk, savouring the smell for a moment before he sinks into the well-worn leather chair behind the desk, letting his eyes slip shut. Letting his mind drift freely, for once he’s not feeling particularly concerned that it might slip somewhere dark. He knows he’s still going to have to have a talk with Tommy, but contrary to what most might guess, he’s usually the easier one to get through to. His talk with Billy went so well, he’s willing to let himself feel a little confident that the one with Tommy might follow suit. Just a little, though. They’re rarely predictable.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until a soft knock at the door wakes him and he nearly upends the drink balancing precariously in his lap. Placing it down on the desk and scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, he calls out to open the door. He’s expecting one of the boys, perhaps looking for a rare private moment. Already getting ready to offer whatever counsel he can, but it turns out he needn’t have worried. Or, maybe he should’ve worried more? Hard to say, just yet.

When it’s Peter who opens the door he tries not to let the surprise show on his face. It’s a little strange to see him standing in the door of his study looking soft and sleep rumpled. For as underfoot as he’s been in their home the past couple years, Tony is fairly certain he’s never actually stepped foot in his study. It seems strange. He’s barely in here himself, but Peter has been so present in their lives it’s surprising to learn there’s something as basic as a room he still hasn’t seen.

“What’re you doing up, kid?” He asks through a yawn, unable to stop himself. He gestures to the chairs at the other side of the desk in invitation and Peter shuffles in, taking a seat as he yawns himself. Catching.  
“Woke up, couldn’t get back to sleep. I saw the light was on so I figured I’d just-” He waves towards Tony, awkward as anything. “Say hi? See how the mission went.” Tony can’t help grinning at that. The way he calls everything Tony does as Iron Man a mission is just a little endearing, he’s pretty sure he takes the Avengers more seriously than any of them do, certain of it, actually.

“See if I’m okay?” He teases, he probably shouldn't be bringing up their exchange earlier, as weird as it felt, but it’s too late now. Peter’s face flames and Tony knows it’s probably a little cruel, but it’s six in the morning, he’s spent the entire night fighting, and he’s too tired to hate himself for how especially pretty Peter looks when he blushes.  
“Well, yeah.” Peter admits, a sheepish little smile creeping over his face. He likes to be teased, Tony knows that already. “Are you?” Tony sighs dramatically.  
“Yeah, I’m fine. I hate to disappoint you but it really wasn’t that exciting.” Peter just scoffs tiredly and rolls his eyes, slouching back in his chair.  
“Yeah, right. Just your regular, everyday avenging, right? Nothing exciting about that at all.” Tony laughs.

“Oh boy, kid. Just be lucky you get to stick to your day job. Well, once you have a day job, that is, because trust me, you’d be pretty disappointed if you got to see what it’s really all about.” He’s only partly telling the truth, there’s definitely a high to being able to help people, to being the _only_ one who can do what you do, but it unfortunately it sometimes feels like you’re hurting more people than you manage to save. Plus, there’s the paperwork. So much paperwork, and all the PR. Yeah, not quite all it’s glammed up to be.

“Yeah.” Peter says, clearly questioning Tony’s sanity and/or intelligence. “I’m sure I’d be really _disappointed_ to be an Avenger.” He’s got that look again, the one that makes Tony feel like he’s missing part of a joke, but Peter cuts into his thoughts before he can get much deeper.

“Um, there’s something I did want to talk-or, say- to you. If that’s alright?” Uh oh. Peter is fidgeting nervously in his chair and Tony’s mind starts to spiral. This is going to be about earlier, when he was leaving, isn’t it? He knew he shouldn’t have brought it up, even in passing. His rational mind tells him that there _is nothing_ to bring up, but it hadn’t felt like nothing and guilty anxiety is clawing its way up his throat

Maybe he’s caught him looking a little too close and it’s made him uncomfortable or- worse, maybe he likes it. Christ. What is he even supposed to say to that if Peter mentions it? Would it ruin his friendship with his sons, what if he told them? He can already imagine the shame of it, they’d probably want to go live with Pepper full time just to get away from him, probably won’t even want to call him dad anymore. However, it seems Tony’s worries are for naught when peter halts his spiral of panic with the words he least expects to hear.

“You know you’re a good dad, right? Still?” He looks so damn earnest, Tony’s still wrapping his mind around what he’s just said.  
“I-what?” He asks, dumbstruck.

“It’s just, god, I really hope I’m not overstepping, Mr. Stark. Just tell me to shut up if I am. But, like, I know the divorce has been really hard-” He looks like he wants to look away as he says it, and Tony winces a little, but neither drop their eyes. “And I know you’re trying and just- you know, Billy and Tommy know it too. It’s been hard for them, but they’ve seen how hard it’s been on you, too. They know you’re trying, they- they still think you’re a good dad. Because you are.” Tony is, quite seriously, at a loss for words and Peter looks like he’s waiting for him to yell or tell him to get out, anything to let him know he’s crossed a line. He’s not even sure how he feels.

“Sorry, I hope that was okay-” Peter starts babbling, clearly more uncomfortable by the second when he continues to say nothing. “It’s just, you looked really, I don’t know- down? This morning in the kitchen, and I guess I just saw maybe more than I should’ve of what you all went through last year and I don’t want to tell anything Tommy or Billy wouldn’t want me to, but I figured you should...know?” Tony swallows hard, and he’s a little embarrassed to find his eyes clouding up. Later on he can put it down to exhaustion.

“Jesus, Peter.” He laughs shakily, voice coming out just a bit rough. “You don’t need to apologize for being nice, just, I don’t know, warn a guy before you’re about to drop something like that, next time.” Peter visibly relaxes now that he’s talking again, and Tony lets himself slump forward, elbows resting on the desk so he can bury his face in his hands. Composure has already gone out the window, so he figures it’s a moot point trying to pretend he doesn’t need a moment, right now.

He’s not expecting the hand that comes out to rest at the crook of his elbow and for a moment, he doesn’t breathe. Peter’s a sweet kid, arguably too sweet, always has been. He’s probably just trying to comfort him. Make sure he’s okay, just like he’s always doing with everyone he can reach. This doesn’t have to be uncomfortable unless he, Tony, makes it so.

 _It’s innocent._ He tells himself, again and again. _He doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s innocent._

He looks up from his hands to see the way Peter is looking at him, nervous lip pulled between his teeth but earnest, eager eyes just a bit too dark, cheeks dashed red just a little too much to be excused by any lingering sleep.

It’s not innocent.

In his head he can picture it with jarring clarity, how easy it would be to reach over and drag Peter across this desk, pull the breath from his lungs and leave his mark in a way he’s willing to bet no one ever has before. The thought of it makes something dark and yearning churn deep in his gut.

It would be easy, too easy. Dangerously easy.

He pulls back, just a little too sharp, too quick, to be conspicuous. Disappointment flashes stark across Peter’s face and he tries not to notice, putting on the warmest smile he can manage without it turning into the grimace it feels like.

“I think it’s time I got to bed, kid. You should probably do the same.” It’s more a command than a suggestion. For a moment, Peter looks like he’s going to argue, fight. Bring their non-moment into being and force Tony to acknowledge what a sick fuck he is for lusting after a teenager, his sons’ best friend, no less. Force him to do something about it, but by some small mercy he must think better of it, instead dropping his eyes from Tony’s as the fight goes out of them and getting out of his chair, unable to hide his feeling of dejection.

He pauses at the doorway, but doesn’t turn around.

“Night, Mr. Stark.” He says, quiet, and then he’s gone.

Tony throws himself back in his chair without any grace, swiping his tumbler off the desk to down the rest of his drink, not caring to taste it. He savours the burn of his throat and wishes it were stronger, anything to distract him for the thoughts in his head. He feels sick with himself. Peter is a kid, for fuck’s sake. He is, quite genuinely, old enough to be is father.

He’s breathing hard and he feels tense all over with a swirling mess of self loathing and half formed arousal coursing through him. With a vicious swing of his arm the tumbler goes sailing into the wall, he finds there’s little satisfaction to be gained in the sound of it shattering against a bookcase. As he stares at the shards of glass scattered over the floor, along with one or two of his father’s old trinkets that have been knocked off the shelf, collateral damage, he thinks that _he was supposed to be better than this_.

* * *

* * *

Peter is feeling more than a little crushed when he makes his way back to the games room.

There was _something there_ when Tony looked at him, he knows there was. It wasn’t just him. For a moment there, he really had thought it might be that easy. It felt like Tony might grab him and yank him over the desk, have him right there. His heart is still pounding in his chest from the nerves, a nauseous mix of disappointment and leftover anticipation swirling in his stomach.

He feels stupid, honestly. There had been a moment, he’s sure of it, but it had only been that. Tony hadn’t even touched him, hadn’t even said anything, but then again he hadn’t pulled away either, not right away. And the way he’d _looked_ at him.

Yeah, definitely not just him.

When he gets back to the games room Billy and Tommy are both awake. He’d been hoping they wouldn’t have woken up, but he knows them well enough to know it was a long shot. Peter’s face flames and he chastises himself, _nothing even happened_. He’s doomed.

“Did he find out?!” Demands Tommy, immediately.  
“Oh my god, Tommy, tact.” Billy shoves him before looking back at Peter, a little sheepish. “But… did he?”  
“No, jeeze.” Peter huffs, dropping down at the far end of the sofa and pulling one of the cushions over to himself so he can curl around it. Possibly use it to hit one of his friends, if need be. “He didn’t find out, but he’s sure going to if you guys don’t shut up about it.” For wannabe superheroes, they really aren’t the best at inside-voices. Then again, he’s managed alright so far and stealth isn’t exactly his strong suit.

“Well then, why the hell are you all red?” Tommy asks, unimpressed.  
“Oh, god. You weren’t in there fanboying at our dad again, were you?” Billy groans, embarrassed for both Peter and himself. Peter’s pretty sure if he gets any redder he’s going to have a stroke.  
“I wasn’t- I do not _fanboy_ over your dad!” He protests, indignant.

“You do. You _so_ do.” Tommy insists. Billy nods along with a pained look in his eyes. How is it they always seem to get along if it’s at his expense, he wonders?  
“It’s honestly hard to watch, dude. You get like, moon eyes.”  
“ _Moon eyes._ ” Peter repeats in disbelief. Tommy is precariously close to blowing their cover laughing. These rooms are _supposed_ to be soundproof, but Mr. Stark seems to have super hearing where his sons are concerned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I hate you guys. Why am I friends with you?” He grumbles.  
“Who else would be friends with you?” Tommy teases.  
“You are literally the worst.” Peter replies with passion.

“Seriously, though.” Billy persists, voice dropping into something closer to an actual whisper. “He’s not, like, on to us, is he?” Peter rolls his eyes.  
“No, Billy, he’s not _on to us,_  you loser.”  
“Hey!” Billy cries.  
“We thought for sure he’d called you in because he knew you’d break the easiest.” Tommy says, smirking.  
“Why would I break the easiest?!”  
“Moon eyes.” Reminds Billy, nodding sagely.  
“I _do not get moon eyes._ ” Peter insists.  
“Yeah, right, whatever helps you sleep at night, dude.” Tommy shrugs dismissively, movements clearly exaggerated.

Eventually, after a solid twenty more minutes of teasing, and a solid half hour of planning after that, they do actually manage to get back to sleep. They don’t bother leaving the couch, most of the furniture in the tower is comfortable enough to fall asleep on, honestly. Tommy and Billy nod off fairly easily, leaving Peter alone to think back to the study.

It’s possible he’s been a little silly, a little too caught up in his own thoughts and desires, thinking it might actually be that easy. Really, he should consider it a win, because he’s now pretty certain it’s not all in his head. Recoiling like that, it wasn’t exactly warranted. If it was really all just in Peter’s head, Tony likely wouldn’t have even noticed, not without looking for it. If he had, he’d probably have let him down easy, or just ignored it. That reaction, well, Peter knows guilt when he sees it. It’s not ideal, but it’s something. He knows he’s got Tony thinking about him, at the very least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates weekly ♥


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, Peter has [organic web-shooting powers](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spider-Man%27s_powers_and_equipment#Biological_webbing), he just uses the wrist pieces to help exact his aim. Also, I'm envisioning him in [this costume](https://78.media.tumblr.com/7f8d441ac9af83ef46d3ea326b688c92/tumblr_p6vkvssdZ11wenx4ko1_1280.png), for the time being. Basically a sweatsuit. Worth noting: Tony has FRIDAY, instead of JARVIS, because obviously Vision existed (because Billy and Tommy exist).
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **  
>  Chapter re-uploaded due to update error.  
>  **

“Peter? Peter Parker?”

Peter slips off his headphones and looks up from his laptop. He’s tucked into the back corner of a cafe, leeching off their internet while his wifi is down at home, keeping an eye on twitter to see if anything comes up that he can help out with. He’s in an inconspicuously ratty hoodie, his breath smells like cheap coffee, and he’s fairly certain the table he’s at hasn’t been cleaned since the place was opened. It’s a relaxed place where no one is going to look twice at the vaguely sketchy kid huddled over his laptop all afternoon. In fact, sketchy kids huddled over laptops are pretty much the lifeblood of the cafe.

He’s absolutely not expecting to see Harry Osborn, long lost childhood best-friend and the subject of Peter’s tween adoration, standing by his table, waving a hand in front of him. He gapes, knowing it probably looks moronic as he does it but unable to stop himself.

“Harry?!” He exclaims, shocked. Harry’s face splits into a wide grin and when he steps closer, arms out just a little tentatively, like he’s not entirely sure a hug is welcome, Peter jumps up out of his chair so fast he nearly knocks it over, surprising himself with how excited he is. Harry isn’t phased by his eager clumsiness, wrapping him into a tight hug right away and thumping him hard on the back. He smells like cologne that probably costs more than Peter’s laptop, yet somehow still approachable, inviting, even. That might just be Peter’s bias speaking, though, pleased as he is to see him.

When they pull back Peter's about fifty percent certain that it's not just his imagination that Harry’s hands linger on his arms for a moment, squeezing tight before dropping away.  
“You mind?” He asks, nodding to the empty seat across from Peter.  
“No! Of course not, man. Go ahead.” Harry smiles, sitting down and immediately leaning into Peter’s space as he drops down into his own chair.  
“So, how’ve you been?” Harry asks. “I can’t believe it’s been so long! What, like four years?” It’s a little jarring to hear, it seems simultaneously like it’s been much longer and much shorter since they’d last seen each other, or even spoken. The last time he’d seen Harry had been about two weeks after his father’s funeral, just before his remaining relatives shipped him off to boarding school. A couple years before uncle Ben died, he wonders if Harry knows.  
“Yeah, almost exactly. Wow, I can’t believe- what are you doing here?” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck sheepishly, this place- well, it doesn’t exactly look like a usual haunt for a guy like Harry, who’s always had a natural taste for things a little… neater. From the looks of him, that hasn’t changed. He’s as well put together as he always was, though his taste seems to have refined, found a more subdued look. He wears it unquestionably well.

For a moment, Harry looks like he’s been caught out in something and something about it prickles at Peter’s senses. What could he possibly have been up to that would make him react so oddly? He’s not sure what he’s expecting to come of Harry’s momentary lapse into silence, but it’s not the pink that settles over his cheeks or the embarrassment that creeps into the edge of his grin.

“I guess I was hoping to run into you.” He confesses. There’s something in his eyes that’s… a lot.  
“ _Why_ ?” Peter asks in disbelief. “I mean- not that- I’m really happy to see you, I am, but… walking around the neighbourhood just hoping to bump into me? I don’t really know why you’d try that hard. I mean- not just because it’s me, but, you know, literally. I’m on facebook, dude.” Peter is babbling, he knows, but Harry hasn’t taken his eyes off him and people _don’t_ normally look at him like that. He just shrugs once Peter manages to shut himself up.

“Guess I was just feeling a little… romantic.” Harry grins and Peter curses his face for heating the way it does, he’s now almost one-hundred percent certain that Harry is _flirting_ with him. People **don’t** flirt with him, not like this. “In the most traditional sense of the word, of course.”   
“Of course.” Peter agrees, slightly hysterical. This isn’t even- he doesn’t even want Harry, doesn’t even know him, anymore. Not really. He wants Mr. Stark, _knows_ he’s getting somewhere with him, but it still feels surprisingly nice to have this, have someone show such blatant interest in him. Harry must get tired of waiting for him to speak, though he hasn’t stopped looking amused at whatever Peter’s face is doing. He’s not sure, he’s no longer in control of it.

“I got back into town a couple weeks ago, I’ve been thinking about looking you up for a while but I guess I was a little worried you wouldn’t want to see me. Ended up wandering around Queens, I’m self-aware enough to admit I was really just hoping I’d either see you or not so the decision would be out of my hands.”  
“Mission accomplished.” Peter grins, nerves having settled a little as he listened to Harry’s explanation, distracted by what he’d said. “Why’d you think I wouldn’t want to see you?”  
“I never wrote you.” The apologetic, forlorn look on Harry’s face, the tone of his voice, it feels more raw and sincere than it had a moment ago. It knocks Peter a little off balance. It’s like Harry finds this particular nerve too raw to soften with his well worn social graces.

“Harry,” Peter says, aiming for comforting. “You- your dad had just died, you got sent to boarding school. Who cares whether or not you wrote?” Peter had, he’d cried til it hurt when he realized no letter was ever going to come and that his best, and only, friend was well and truly gone from his life. He understands more, now, but at the time it had just hurt. “I’m just glad to see you doing well.” That part, at least, is true.

Harry sighs, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “You always were too good for your own good, Parker.”  
“Not too good for you.” Peter laughs and- oops. He’d really only meant it in a friendly, reassuring way, but Harry’s raised a brow that says it’s clearly not how he’s taken it and, when he reflects on his choice of words, Peter can’t say he blames him.

Peter’s phone buzzes and when he glances down at it, it’s an emergency alert, just as he’d hoped- not hoped, he doesn’t _want_ anyone to be in distress, just- well, it is what it is and it’s a chance for him to get suited up, help people, maybe even save some lives. He jumps up from the table, scrambling to gather his things into his bag.

“Shit! Shit, I’m sorry, Harry, I’ve got to go, like, now. I promise we’ll catch up later.” Harry’s got a strange look on his face that Peter can’t actually be bothered to analyze, at the moment.  
“Peter,” He starts, reaching out for Peter’s arm. “I hope I didn’t-”  
“No! No, no, no, you didn’t, don’t worry.” Peter slips away from his grasp, already headed out of the cafe before Harry can follow him any further. “Later! I promise!” He shouts on his way out the door.

He ducks into the first alleyway he can, shedding his clothes as quick as he can manage without getting stuck in his suit. He tosses his clothes haphazardly into his bag and webs it to the wall behind a dumpster, then he takes off, going over the situation in his head as he swings from building to building.

_Six robbers, four armed, an estimated fourteen to twenty-one hostages trapped inside._

Peter’s got super strength, his webs, and a winning sense of humour, he can only come out on top.

When he gets close enough to see the bank, he finds it already surrounded by police and opts to swing down onto the roof to avoid them. The public still hasn’t made up its mind about Spider-Man, largely because most of the public isn’t actually aware of him at all, so the police aren’t likely to give him any leeway, like they would some other superheroes, or, vigilantes, as they probably still think of him. _If_ they think of him. He manages to land without being spotted, and he thinks he’s managed to be sneaky until he hears the telltale sound of chopper blades headed nearer and looks up to see a news copter coming in to circle overhead.

No time to be subtle, then. He takes a quick but thorough look down into the building through the skylight, assessing the situation and making sure there’s no one below it, then he backs up and takes a running leap, coming down with as much force as he can muster to ensure the glass breaks, if he can’t be sneaky, he’s at least going to have to keep the element of surprise, meaning it has to work the first time.

He succeeds, shooting a web to the ceiling above where everyone is gathered as soon as he’s through, he’s pretty sure he’s been nicked here and there with the broken glass, but he hardly feels it, focused on the task at hand. His senses are in overdrive as he manages to swing straight into one of the bad guys, maneuvering in time to web another as he turns, pulling him forward so Peter makes contact, knocking him out and to the ground.

His feet touch the ground and the other two robbers holding guns have opened fire on him. He manages to snatch one of their guns away and fling it to the side with his web just as he’s ducking behind the counter, but he’s going to have to get out quick if he’s going to stop them from picking it up again. The gunfire stops and Peter leaps up before he can overthink it, following his instincts, he manages to trap the other person against the wall with a web just before he bends to retrieve his gun, but as soon as his eyes find the last armed robber he freezes where he lands.

“That’s right, you little freak. Another move and she gets a bullet in the brain.” They’ve got their arm wrapped around the neck of a young girl, she can’t be more than twelve. She looks scared, but despite the ski-mask, the person pointing a gun to her head looks it even more so, body language giving off warning signs all over. Not a great sign.  
“Alright.” Peter says, voice careful as he puts his hands up. “Alright, dude. I won’t touch you, as long as you hurt her, sound good?” When he looks close, Peter can see the sweat dripping down the robber’s neck where their mask has ridden up, they seem to be shaking, just slightly. Something isn’t right, he doesn’t like not knowing what. Peter looks close at their eyes and he can see that they’ve been reduced to pinpoints, also not a good sign. He wonders what they could have taken and why risk it before what seems like an otherwise well-enough planned heist, and knows he’s got to get the girl away from them, fast.

He’s wracking his brain trying to come up with a plan when the other two robbers, both unarmed, exit the vault and round the counter behind Peter, one is carrying a large duffle and the other has one of the safety deposit boxes. The bag doesn’t look or sound like it’s stuffed with cash, probably tools.

“Well, now. What’ve we got here?” Asks the woman who comes around to stand in front of him. She’s the one carrying the duffle, which she drops the the floor with a heavy thud. She’s taller than him, and she looks like she can pack a mean punch, but Peter’s not worried. Maybe, if he can draw her attention away, make a convincing show of being hurt, the person with the gun will let the girl go and he can take them by surprise before they leave.

He gets as far as mouthing off to her to goad her into throwing a punch before he realizes all is not as it seems.

She sends him sailing clear over the counter where he crashes into a filing cabinet hard enough to bring it down and send papers flying everywhere. _Fuck_ , that hurt. He definitely did not expect that much strength. He rolls over with a grimace, pushing himself up onto his knees.

“Aw, is that all it takes, boy wonder?” She asks snidely, leaning over the counter to look down at him with a faux look of concern. He looks up at her and- yeah. She’s handling it better, but something isn’t right with her, also. Her pupils are the same pinpoints as the other’s, harder to spot against the darker irises, but definitely constricted.

Wen he pushes him up onto his feet, his eye is already swollen most of the way shut behind the shattered goggle, but now that he knows how strong she is, he won’t hold back. Just as he leaps up over the counter, Iron Man drops down into the bank through the broken skylight. Peter’s heartbeat kicks up but he still has the mind to take advantage of the surprise when she turns her attention to him, slipping around the woman in front of him and swiping the gun away from the other robber, punching them hard enough to snap their head back. They release their grip on the girl, who immediately runs over to her teary eyed father’s arms, and falls back, clutching their bloodied nose and groaning in pain.

No one’s actually said anything since Mr. Stark- _Iron Man_ , dropped into the building, he strides forward and the heavy fall of his footsteps in the suit make Peter shiver. This is really not the time to get a hard on, but given that a stiff breeze can do it for Peter, these days, he’ll just thank his lucky stars he had the foresight to sew a cup into the suit.

“What, is no one going to say anything?” Tony asks. “Were you talking about me? That’s awkward.” Peter’s face inexplicably burns under his mask, he _knows_ Tony has a lame sense of humour, and yet when he’s in the suit, like this, ready to take people down, he still seems- god help him- _cool_. Tony turns his attention to the robbers on the ground. Guns webbed to the floor, then looks at the woman, then back at Peter.

“Was this you?” Peter goes to speak, but catches himself at the last minute. His voice. Instead, he nods. “Anyone ever tell you it’s not professional to wear sweats to work?” He asks, gesturing to Peter’s outfit. Peter shrugs.  
“Better than spandex.” He tries to pitch his voice low. There’s a solid chance he sounds ridiculous, but as long as he doesn’t sound like himself, it’s fine.

Tony turns his attention back to the woman standing between them, she looks ready to fight and Peter feels the ache in his eye and decides that Iron Man’s probably got this one in the bag, he turns to find the other robber, expecting them to still be standing by the counter with the safety deposit box, but they’re gone. Vanished into thin air. They were there a second ago, Peter _knows_ this.

He turns around to tell Tony as much just in time to see the woman charge him, she might’ve been able to take Peter down a peg, but she’s no match for Iron Man. Tony manages to knock her out without much fuss before turning his attention back to Peter. He steps forward and reaches up to inspect Peter’s busted goggles.

“Looks like you’ve got a pretty good shiner blooming under there, kid.”  
“Not a kid.” Peter mumbles reflexively, still trying to disguise his voice. Tony snorts.  
“Sure.” He’s still toying with Peter’s goggle, and the proximity is making Peter’s pulse rush in his ears. He’s never, ever been this close to Tony in the suit, before. It’s a lot, and definitely unexpectedly so. “Jesus, can you even see through these.” Peter huffs, and steps back. If he doesn’t get it together soon- he’s on the job, is all he’s saying. It wouldn’t look very good for his image to be caught going all gooey cause Iron Man got in his personal space, a little.

“Look, why’d they even call Iron Man in for something like this? I had it under control!”  
“You sure about that?” Tony motions to his eye. “Besides, who called you in?” He asks, very much aware that the answer is _no one_ .  
“I just mean- isn’t this kind of small fry, for the Avengers?” Peter tries again, a little sheepish, this time. Tony sighs. “Yeah, it is, actually. But lives were at stake, and then _you_ showed up,” Peter winces, he understands that the authorities don’t know much about him, yet, but he’s _good_. They’ll get it, eventually, he’s going to make sure of it. “And so, here I am.” It still feels like a bit of a flimsy reason, a lot of that going around, today, but maybe he can figure out more later. For now, more important things.

“Listen, there was another one of them here a minute ago. They took something, a safety deposit box. I don’t know what was in it.”  
“And you let them get away?” Tony demands disapprovingly.  
“No- I didn’t! I mean they _literally_ disappeared. Here one second, gone the next! I don’t know, man.”  
“You think they were powered?” Tony asks, Peter shrugs.  
“I guess, yeah. No other explanation, right?”  
“Right. Well, the police are going to need to-”

“Oh! Nope, sorry. It’s-uh, about time for me to head out, y’know?” Tony laughs.  
“No way, you can’t just crash a crime scene and expect-” Peter doesn’t wait for him to finish, shooting his web to the wall mid ceiling and flinging himself around Tony and up towards the broken skylight.  
“Hey!” Tony shouts. "I wasn't done talking!"  
“Sorry!” Peter shouts back, as he’s swinging up out of the building. “Check their eyes!” He yells, loud enough that Tony will hear him, swinging away just as the all clear is given for the police to enter the building.

He moves quick, wary of being chased, but Tony doesn’t follow him and it makes something warm in his chest. He _knows_ he’s not any threat, or he wouldn’t have let him get away so easy. It’s a step forward for Spider-Man, if not Peter Parker.

* * *

* * *

Tony sighs as he lets the kid get away, he should’ve told him to be careful, he thinks. Not that it’d have done any good, but at least his conscience would be clearer when he inevitably gets himself hurt, running around in _sweatpants_ and taking on armed criminals like a lunatic.

But, then again, Tony gets it. He started out as a lunatic in a tin can, more or less, and look at him now. Not to mention, the kid’s clearly got some hefty powers, that’s something. Besides, he’s already very obviously well on his way to making enemies, and revealing his identity isn’t likely to do him any favours. Tony vows privately to look into him later on, see what he can find, and decide if he needs to intervene. Without the police.

Speaking of whom, Tony glances over at the hostages and signals for the police to enter the building. Before the questions can begin he remembers the kid’s urging to check their eyes and bends down to do just that. The pupils are pinpoints and Tony does a quick diagnostics check, pressing a metal finger to draw a tiny bit of blood with the needle inside and sending a quick, harmless electric pulse through the body to collect some readings on the state of everything the blood won’t tell him. He leaves looking over the information for later, but he’s fairly sure he already knows what he’s going to find.

* * *

* * *

Once Tony gets home, he stops to say hello to the boys, surprised to find them both in Billy’s room, which they urge Tony out of without ceremony, behaving decidedly cagey, and he decides he doesn’t need to know. They’re always up to something or other, he can worry about it when and if they start acting weird. More weird. They’re always a little weird, these days, by virtue of being teenagers.

From there he heads straight into his workshop, making sure the doors are sealed shut behind him, this is one particular mess he’d rather the boys not stick their noses in.

“FRIDAY, pull up the results of the diagnostic test from earlier and get the blood analysis going.”  
_“Right away, sir.”_ He sits down at one of the workbenches as FRIDAY brings up the projection displaying the results of the diagnostic test. They’re about what he expected. Fever, rapid heartbeat, skin rash, early stage deterioration of one or two organs. He spends a while looking through it more thoroughly, but the long and short of it remains fairly straight-forward.

FRIDAY alerts him that the blood analysis is complete and he pulls up the basics, finding it does, indeed, confirm what he’d suspected. This person had powers, but they weren’t inhuman, or alien, or anything else that might explain said powers.

“Run their sample against the one from the other day, bring up any matching anomalies.”

As far as he can tell, these people are taking something that’s forcing a temporary mutation and the withdrawals seem to cause severe tissue deterioration, on top of a number of other unpleasant symptoms. He doesn’t know much about it, yet, but the biggest question by far is where it’s coming from.

Once he figures out a where, he can figure out the why. Someone has to be doing this with a goal in mind, it’s not exactly a drug that’s cropping up all over the streets, it’s something he’s only encountered twice in person, and he’s not finding many recognizable records of it in other instances.

While he’s waiting, he decides to track down and run through the security footage of the bank at the time of the robbery. It’s almost too easy, all things considered, and he looks for the sixth person the kid with the webs had mentioned. Once he spots them, it looks like the kid was right. When Tony enters the bank, there’s a sixth person standing by the counter, holding a security deposit box, while everyone’s attention is drawn to Tony in the seconds afterwards, the space around them goes hazy and then they’re _gone_.

Tony feels immediately antsy about the security of his own home.

He also needs to know what was in that safety deposit box.

He zooms in and enhances the footage enough to make out _#451_ on the front of the long, metal box. The chances of someone giving him willing access to the private records of the bank are slim to none, so he intends to go ahead and just grant himself access. Between getting into their system, trying to track down the potential source of the drug, and beefing up his own security, he knows he’s probably looking at an all-nighter.

Before he gets too deep into things, he makes a pointed detour.

“FRIDAY, the kid with the webs from earlier, what do we know about him?”

Several videos fill the screen, mostly shaky, phone footage of the kid swinging between buildings and beating up muggers.

 _“Inhuman male of unknown identity. Likely between the ages of seventeen and twenty-one, most often seen operating in Queens, intermittently active for roughly eight months.”_ Seventeen seems a little on the young side for comfort, but not by much. From the looks of it, the kid doesn’t get up too _too_ much real trouble. So, that’s something.   
“What about his abilities?”  
“He appears to possess superhuman agility, senses, and strength to an unknown degree, as well as the ability to cling to whichever surface he is on.”  
“What about the webs? What are those made of?”   
“Unknown, sir.” Tony sighs, that’d been the part he was most curious about. He’s going to have to try and snag a sample of it if he runs into him again.

“Well, keep an eye out for him. Let’s see how much trouble he gets into.”  
_“I’ll let you know if anything notable comes up.”_

With that out of the way, Tony settles in for a long night.

* * *

* * *

Peter was really, really hoping that aunt May might still be out running errands, but he knows as soon as he hits their floor that he’s out of luck. He can already smell dinner cooking, it’s her famous, but admittedly questionable, tuna casserole that eliminates any doubt of which apartment it’s coming from.

He slips in the door as quietly as he can, toeing off his shoes carefully and doing his best to dash across the living room while her back is turned and her attention is on the stove. Unfortunately, he doesn’t quite manage to swing it, just as he’s about to clear the threshold from the kitchen to the hall, she catches him.

“Peter! Where do you think you’re sneaking off to?” He hears her put down the wooden spoon and walk closer. He hates this part.

“Come on, turn around.” Peter hangs his head, tip of his tongue already heavy with lies as he turns. She grabs his chin and tilts his head up, when her other hand comes up to cover her mouth in shock something in Peter’s chest twists painfully.  
“Oh my god, Peter. Are you alright? Do you need to go to a hospital, that looks-”  
“No, no, no May, I’m fine. I promise.”  
“You don’t look fine.” She insists, somber. Clearly not buying his protests.  
“Seriously, I swear. I’m not dizzy or anything, it looks worse than it is.”  
“Mhm.”  
“Honestly.”

“Peter, sweetie, please. Who did this to you?” Her tone is desperately pained and more than a little angry, though not at him. Peter swallows, ducking his head away from her hand. “Just- just some assholes at school.”  
“God, Peter, can’t you tell s-.”   
“No, it’s not worth the trouble. Look, I promise if it’s still this bad in the morning I’ll see a doctor, okay?” He already knows it won’t be. She huffs, clearly dissatisfied, but accepting that it’s better than nothing, able to see that Peter has already dug his heels in. He’s relieved she’s letting it go easily enough. These moments, seeing the worry in her eyes, it’s the only thing that ever makes him really question whether what he’s doing is worth it, or not.

“Alright. Fine. Come here.” She pulls him into a tight hug, and Peter only feels a little misty eyed by the time she pulls back. “I worry about you, you know?”  
“I know.” He mumbles. “I’m sorry.” She sighs sadly and turns away.  
“Hold on.” She instructs him, making her way over to the freezer to retrieve a frozen bag of peas so she can wrap a dishcloth around them and hand them over to him.  
“I’m checking on you in the morning.” She warns as he grabs the peas from her, wincing as he presses them to his eye.  
“I know. I’ll be alright, I promise.” He finally makes it out of the room, heading down the hall to his bedroom.  
“Yeah, we’ll see!” She calls after him. “Supper in twenty minutes!”

Once he’s got his bedroom door closed firmly behind him, he tosses the peas to the side. They do feel nice, but they won’t do much for him. If anything, they might make things worse. His bruises already disappear suspiciously quickly, he doesn’t need to make the process go by any quicker.

He throws himself onto his bed with a sigh, thinking back over the day. It occurs to him that he failed to actually get Harry’s number. It still strikes him as odd, a little off, Harry’s excuse for just wandering Queens, apparently hoping to run into him. But, hey. If Harry had done it, Peter could do it too, right? He knows where Harry’s apartment is, although… thinking back to the way Harry had looked at him, maybe it’d be better to try his luck catching him at Oscorp, rather than visiting him at home. Less personal.

Or is that more strange? They’d never worried about it before, would it make it obvious something was up if he worried about it now? Why is Peter even the one worried about this?! He’s not the one who made it weird, Harry is. He doesn’t even reciprocate the weird.

Of course, when he thinks about that, it’s impossible not to think about Mr. Stark.

It had been a little exhilarating to have Harry look at him the way he did, a few years ago it would’ve been all Peter wanted, but now, well. It had nothing on the way he’d felt when Mr. Stark had leant in close to inspect the state of his goggles. His blood rushes south with dizzying speed at the thought of how strikingly powerful Mr. Stark, _Iron man_ had seemed up close.

Peter eyes the clock on his phone, and curses his hormones. He really hasn’t got time to do this, and really, he knows he’s a teenager but he’d been feeling solidly shamed about three minutes ago, surely this kind of turnaround isn’t normal?

He spends the rest of the time in his room thinking distinctly un-sexy thoughts, and very specifically avoiding thinking about Tony as himself _or_ as Iron Man. By the time dinner is ready he’s safely ready to interact without embarrassing himself.

He wishes he could do something to help ease the shadow that’s fallen over May’s face, even when they laugh about whatever dumb thing happened at her work, or in class, but he knows there’s nothing for it until his bruise has faded. Then, soon enough, another one will take its place. When she suggests they stay up and watch a movie, clearly, visibly hoping to keep him in her sight for a while, he thinks maybe it’ll be good for both their peace of mind.

They stay up watching _Night of the Living Dead_ , both making fun of and appreciating bits and pieces of it the whole way through, and by the time it’s over things feel a little better. May gives him a tight hug before sending him off to bed and the ache in his chest eases a little.

When he checks his phone, he’s got messages from Tommy informing him that he **needs** to come to the tower tomorrow because he and Billy have figured out something that’s ‘ _going to be epic_ ’. He grins and texts back, trying to get either of them to fess up, but Tommy won’t and Billy isn’t responding so he’s left to wonder.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice the chapter count has gone up, oops? I have no self control?

“Remind me why we have to _skip school_ for this?” Peter asks, pained, as they make their way towards the metro station nearest to the school. Beside him Tommy sighs like he’s greatly put-upon, Billy stays quiet, looking stressed.  
“I told you, dude, our dad was in his workshop _all night_ . He’s clearly working on something. We know he’s gone now so we’ve gotta’ do this now, who knows how long he’s going to be in there when he gets back.” Tommy insists. Peter turns, giving Billy’s shoulder a nudge.  
“Come on, you can’t agree with him. This is stupid.”  
“Hey!”  
“Well.” Billy grimaces.  
“Come _on_ .” Peter groans. He would really like to not get detention for skipping school on top of everything else, but he knows that if neither of them are on his side they _will_ drag him if they have to.  
“I don’t love it, but- you know how dad is! When he gets fixated on something- I mean, it’s a miracle he left at all. Tommy’s kind of… right.” The word is grated out of him, clearly painful. On Peter’s other side, Tommy fistpumps.  
“Hell yeah, I am! Like always.” Peter scoffs and Billy just rolls his eyes, otherwise ignoring his brother’s antics, already well used to them.

“Besides, it’s going to be worth it when we all get an upgrade.” He promises, a little excitement beginning to edge out the earlier forlornness.  
“Yeah, no more black eyes. You still have to tell us how you got that, you know.” Tommy insists, and not for the first time Peter wishes that the one really, cool crime he stopped didn’t also involve their dad. Not only does it make the memory go a little fuzzy, but really, it does instantly make it less cool. To them, at least.  
“Okay, first of all, idiots, I don’t think it counts as an upgrade when you don’t have a suit to begin with.”  
“Hey! Neither do you!” Billy protests.  
“Yes I do!” Peter insists, indignant.  
“Dude, you have _sweatpants._ ” Tommy says, voice dry.  
“Whatever.” Peter grumbles. “ _Second of all_ …” Peter sighs, already knowing what’s coming. “I stopped a bank robbery.” For about half a second, both of their eyes go wide with eager glee. “With your dad.” He finishes.  
“ _Oh my god_.” Tommy moans miserably.  
“That is _so lame_.” Billy says sadly, shaking his head.  
“The _one time_ you almost have a story we want to hear!” Tommy flails around in misery, almost smacking Peter’s bruised eye as he bats his hand away with a huff.

“Would you guys just- shut up! Your dad is-” He cuts himself off, going beet red. Nothing that’s about to come out of his mouth is going to help him in this situation. They’ve reached an intersection and Tommy and Billy are both looking at him, amused and pained, respectively. He refuses to make eye contact.  
“No, go on.” Tommy prompts dryly. “Finish your thought.”  
“Please don’t.” Billy begs in turn.  
“Please, _do._ ” Tommy insists, an evil grin on our face. Peter is just considering taking his chances running into traffic when the walk light appears. Unfortunately for all of them, Tommy will not be thwarted, continuing to tease Peter as they cross the street, finally stepping in front of him once they reach the sidewalk. Peter groans, defeated.  
“ _Cool_ , okay.” Both Billy and Tommy groan, Tommy clearly simultaneously delighted by Peter’s humiliation and he’s pretty sure even Billy is hiding a smile. “Sometimes! Not always, just… when he’s Iron man- I don’t know!”  
“Whatever, dude.” Tommy shrugs, shaking his head. “You just have a huge geek boner for our dad.” Peter chokes on his own spit and Billy’s head snaps up to look at Tommy, mouth dropping open in clear horror.  
“Tommy, _ew._ **No.** Don’t _ever_ mention dad and boners in the same sentence again.”  
“Why not? You just did it.”  
“That’s not- you dick!”

To Peter’s great relief, that’s about all it takes for him to be forgotten, he herds them towards the subway entrance while they bicker, thinking about how he’s really going to have to get his mouth and his face under control if he wants to have any chance of keeping his feelings for Mr. Stark hidden from them, which, he suspects, is very much a necessity in getting the chance to _act_ on said feelings in the first place.

By the time they reach the tower, they’ve got a plan. This isn’t the first time they’ve ditched school, but it _is_ the first time they’ve done it just to sneak back into the the tower. It’s not ideal, seeing as it wouldn’t exactly be hard for Tony to catch them, what with FRIDAY and all of the security, but they’ve got some ideas and the boys assert that _they’ve got this_. Peter has little faith, especially seeing as the idea hinges primarily on Peter’s ability to deprogram some of Mr. Stark’s security settings for a couple hours and Peter is good at tech but that’s no small ask.

Because of this, it’s especially surprising when it _works_ . Billy opens a portal into his dad’s lab, Tommy dashes in too quick for the cameras to pick up and grabs the manual override control tablet Tony  _thinks_ they don’t know about, and Peter, by some miracle, actually manages to disable FRIDAY’s memory. He’s barely got a moment to comprehend it before his friends are excitedly shoving him through the portal so Billy can let it close, piling into Mr. Stark’s lab. After that, it takes very little prompting for them to start excitedly running through their ideas with Peter and that’s about when he realizes that the idea here is for him to make them into something functional.

“Hold on.” He says loudly, hands out so they stop talking, he brings them back to cross them as he continues. “I thought you guys said you had this figured out!” Tommy scrunches up his face and shrugs, Billy smiles sheepishly.  
“We have it _mostly_ figured out, we just need you to… make it work?” Billy finishes, hopeful and entirely shameless.  
“You mean do all the work.” Peter corrects, unamused.  
“We never actually _said_ we had it all figured out!” Tommy points out.  
“I’m pretty sure your exact words were ‘got something epic figured out, get here ASAP tomorrow’!”  
“That’s just an expression.” Tommy shrugs, looking away dismissively.  
“It’s _definitely not._ ” Billy is laughing at them, but he eventually derails the argument and persuades Peter to get started, as if he was ever _really_ going to say no. All in all it takes about three hours to figure out how to piece together the half-formed ideas and plans that Tommy and Billy have laid out into something that can actually be brought into being. After that, he just has to program Mr. Stark’s machines and the rest is waiting while they do the bulk of the work in actually creating the suits. They pull up some stools, Tommy and Billy on one side of the workbench and Peter at the other.

As it tends to do when three teenage boys are left to let idle minds wander, the conversation turns to sex, which, with the three of them, is a conversation that tends to have an established formula. No one can particularly bother or criticize Billy, as he and Teddy are somehow already an old married couple and therefore not only more than adequately sexually active but also disgustingly in love to the point that teasing them is just plain _boring_ . Tommy, on the other hand, is something of a disaster, romantically, but he has at least _had_ sex. Peter, as the only virgin between the three of them, tends to take the brunt of the teasing.

It’s never genuinely hurtful, because neither of his friends are truly cruel, and Billy is the only one who really has a clue what he’s talking about, anyways, but it _is_ more than a little awkward for Peter, considering who has been the increasingly regular feature of his amorous thoughts for the last couple years. It’s this awkwardness that pushes him to speak.  
“I’m like, fifty-percent sure that I could have had sex. Yesterday. If I’d wanted to.” He starts out loud and defensive, but by the end of his sentence his voice has trailed off as he’s actually begun to _grasp_ what he’s saying. He wants to take it back, he _really_ doesn’t know that, but it’s too late, the words are out and the damage is done. Billy and Tommy both stare back at him, shocked and pleased. Their expressions seem innocent enough, but when he looks into their eyes he can see what they truly are, _vultures._

“Um, what the fuck?!” Tommy demands.  
“Yeah, is there like… a reason you haven’t already told us this _yesterday_?” Billy asks, genuinely offended.  
“Who was it?” Tommy demands, even louder.  
“Oh, god. You guys, I- it really wasn’t that-” He tries desperately to backpedal, but it’s far too late.  
“Peter.” Billy says, calm, just barely making an effort to hide a grin. “I can literally look into other realities, I can definitely figure this out if you make me. Just _tell us_ who it was.” Peter sighs, defeated, throwing his head back as the two of them make triumphant noises across from him. He’s pretty sure he hears them high-five. He pulls his head back but brings his hands up to cover his face.

“You guys remember Harry Osborn?” He grates out, peeking out at them from between his fingers. Tommy’s face twists into something that looks… constipated, and Billy’s expression falls somewhere between irritation and glee. They’d never met Harry, but they both knew about him. Peter had met the two of them not too long after Harry left, before Uncle Ben died, when Harry had still been the biggest hurt of his adolescence, when he’d shared what happened with them it had been the first time he’d really talked about it, they’d both been adamant that Peter was too forgiving. It’s clear neither of their feelings have changed.

Of course, even without that, these days it’d be hard _not_ to know about Harry. He’s not quite in the tabloids every other week, but close enough. Peter never reads the headlines, but sometimes he does catching himself looking at the pictures, trying to see his friend in them.  
“Well,” Peter goes on, taking their reactions as answer enough. “I ran into him.”  
“Uh, what the fuck? You just _ran into_ Harry Osborn? After _years_? Where were you?!” Billy asks, baffled.

“Well, I guess it’s more like he ran into me.” Peter corrects slowly. “I was at the cafe near my house-”  
“The one that smells like piss with coffee both the flavour and consistency of tar?” Asks Tommy, unimpressed. Peter nods. “Okay, what the fuck.” Tommy grabs his phone, typing quickly into it while he talks. “I’m sure he was a real down to earth guy when you knew him, or whatever, but this,” He brandishes the phone dramatically in Peter’s face. “Is not a person who hangs out in cafes that smell like piss.”  
“I- well.” Peter can feel his cheeks going hot already. “He said- it wasn’t really an accident.” He can already see them about to get carried away. “It doesn’t matter! We don’t even know if he likes guys!”  
“Actually,” Billy interrupts with a grin, Peter is horrified, Tommy is _delighted._ “I’m not saying I thirst follow your nemesis-”  
“ _Oh my god_ , he’s not even- where did you even-”  
“But I do follow him, and the boy is _not_ straight.”

This is… even worse than he’d expected. Tommy has picked up his phone again and Peter doesn’t even want to _know_ what he’s looking up, this time. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t have a choice.  
“Dude, I’m pretty sure this is _you_ .” He informs Peter, despite leaning over to show Billy whatever is on his screen, instead of Peter. Billy looks downright delighted as Tommy turns the phone so Peter can see it. It’s an artfully edited picture of hands curled loosely against a stained coffee-cup, and it takes a moment for Peter to register that those are _his hands._ There’s no caption, no tags, and he stares at the photo until Tommy pulls away his phone. He hadn’t even _noticed_ Harry taking the picture.    
“What happened, exactly.” Billy asks, Peter squirms.  
“Um- not really anything. He just, uhh, looked at me. A lot.”  
“He didn’t say anything?”

“He said he was feeling- um- romantic.” Tommy’s eyes bulge.  
“Oh my god! Peter, come on. He is _into you_ what are you even saying, right now?!” Billy asks, tone making it very clear what he thinks of Peter’s intelligence at the moment.  
“He meant it in the traditional sense.” Peter insists, Tommy scoffs.  
“No one means that in the traditional sense, dude. Be real.” Peter looks to Billy for help, but there’s none to be found. Quite the opposite, in fact.  
“It’s true, you’re an idiot. _Harry Osborne_ , your long lost love-”  
“Pubescent crush!”  
“Whatever- shows up out of the blue, tells you that you had him _feeling romantic_ -”  
“He didn’t say it was _me specifically_ -” He basically did, but Billy ignores him, anyways.  
“And eye fucks you in a dingy cafe. Why are you even here, shouldn’t you be in a mansion somewhere getting nailed six ways to Sunday?” Tommy bursts out laughing, and Billy just keeps looking at him like he’s truly hopeless. He doesn’t tell them that he would, actually, very much like to be doing just that, they’ve just go the wrong building and the wrong billionaire.

It’s about that moment that they hear the whir of the elevator.

Panic ensues as the three of the scramble to grab their uniforms from the machine, Peter’s is only half done but he quickly aborts the rest, thanking the universe that Mr. Stark’s machines all feature convenient kill switches so he doesn’t have to mess around with it or wait for it to shut down. They stumble through one of Billy’s portals and into his room just as the elevator doors begin to slide open.

“Oh, shit. Shit!” Billy whispers in distress, despite the fact that they’re well out of hearing range.  
“What, dude?! Words!” Tommy whispers back urgently.  
“You guys know we can like, talk, now, right?”  
“I dropped my headband!” Billy yells, Tommy’s mouth falls open and Peter brings his hands up over his face with a groan. “And FRIDAY is still messed up, dad’s gonna _notice_ .” He says despairingly.  
“We’re screwed.” Tommy joins him, slinking down against the wall in defeat.  
“Can’t we just… do what we did before? Tommy’s fast enough he won’t even notice.”  
“He’ll notice.” Says Billy, forlorn.  
“He _always_ notices.” Tommy affirms, morosely. “We could pass FRIDAY off as a glitch, but if he finds a piece of the uniform he’s going to _know_ , right away.”

Peter is already imagining all the crime he’s _not_ going to fight while he’s stuck in detention when Billy’s eyes go wide.  
“You have to distract him!”  
“Uh.” Peter jerks back, bewildered, as Billy gets up and starts stalking forward. “No?”  
“Yes! Look, dad _knows_ you love all his techy stuff, it makes sense that you’d be there!”  
“In the middle of a school day? As the one person in this room who _doesn’t live here_ ?”  
“Pff, you practically do.”  
“Dude, you’re his sons, wouldn’t it make more sense for one of _you_ to be there?”  
“It can’t be us specifically _because_ we’re his sons! He can ground us, he can’t ground you!” Tommy jumps up and joins them in a fraction of a second, looking excited, now that Billy seems to be making the executive decision to scapegoat Peter.

“It’s perfect! You distract dad, and I’ll grab the headband real quick while he’s not paying attention!”  
“Yes, see!”  
“I see that you two assholes are going to get me in trouble!” Peter retorts, already backing away from them.  
“It’s the lesser of two evils!” Tommy defends.  
“What am I even supposed to say?!” Peter asks, already feeling a bit helpless to stop this train. Billy shrugs, entirely unhelpful.  
“I don’t know? Make up something! Superhero stuff!”  
“Sup-w- you know he doesn’t know it’s _me_ , right?!”  
“Oh, yeah. I don’t know man, you’re smart, you’ll figure something out!”  
“No.” Peter replies, firm. “Really, really n-” Billy winces, and Peter knows it’s already too late.

“Sorry.” He says, entirely _not_ sorry, the bastard, and then Peter is being pushed, landing on his butt behind one of the workbenches. When he jumps up, Tony is there, standing in the centre of the room. Peter is stuck staring at the older man like a deer in the headlights as Mr. Stark looks back with not a small amount of suspicion.

“Hello, Peter.” He says, bemused. Peter swallows nervously, shifting on his feet as he adjusts his backpack, knowing he probably looks like about as much of a mess as he feels like.  
“Hi, Mr. Stark.” He says nothing else, and Tony leans back against the workbench behind him, arms folded. He doesn’t take his eyes off Peter, and Peter understands that he’s waiting for something, but he just can’t get his brain to _stop_ trying to derail itself long enough to figure out what.

 

* * *

* * *

Peter just stays where he is, looking terrified and embarrassed, going more and more red in a way that would be cute if he weren’t marginally concerned Peter might have a stroke. His eyes are drawn to the bruise over Peter’s eye, an ugly yellow, still purple in spots. He has to bite his tongue hard enough to taste blood to stop himself from prying. He knows Peter gets bullied, and he knows he fights back. It won’t do him any good to bring it up, now.

Of course, because he’s looking so closely, he’s all too aware of the way the boy’s eyes keep dipping down, and in the interest of saving them both whatever would come of Tony having to _adjust_ himself in front of Peter, he takes pity on them both, clearing his throat to pull Peter back to reality, a little. The kid’s eyes snap up.

“You gonna tell me what you’re doing in my workshop in the middle of a school day, Parker?”  
“Oh- um. Yeah, yeah- that’s- there’s-” He watches Peter stammering, clearly trying to come up with a lie on the spot. It’s actually a little adorable, and like most things about Peter, it spurs a little curl of arousal through his gut, imagining how easy it would be to push Peter past the point of coherence if he put his hands on him. Tony does his best to steer his mind back to the present, reminding himself that he’s currently sleep deprived and exhausted and his self control is definitely not what it should be. He can’t afford to let his mind wander.

“You were looking for something.” He’s not certain, but Peter almost looks _dismayed_ at the suggestion. Like he’s missed out on something.  
“I’m not-” His phone buzzes in his hand, he glances down at it distracted. For a moment he goes still, then, slipping his phone up into his pockets, he looks back at Tony. Still clearly embarrassed, but determined. Tony wonders what it said. “I wasn’t _looking_ for anything, I just have a question!” He defends.  
“I know FRIDAY isn’t recording.”  
“That wasn’t me!”

“Oh? Who else would it be?” He asks, rhetorical, as he takes a step forward. They both know the only other people who would even try to pull something like that are his kids, and it’s unlikely at best. Still, he can see the suggestions on the tip of Peter’s tongue. “Come on, Parker,” He cuts him off before he can begin, gesturing as he takes another step forward. “You think I don’t know my own kids? Billy doesn’t need the tech and Tommy doesn’t have the patience for it, we both know this was you.”

Peter huffs, looking more frustrated than embarrassed, and looks away.  
“That’s not exactly what you do when you’ve just _got a question_ .” Tony points out. “Besides, there’s no reason whatever _question_ you had couldn’t just wait until _after_ school.”  
“Yes there _is_ .” Peter bites back, seeming to squeeze his arms around himself, bracing. “It’s not the type of thing you want me to ask when Billy and Tommy are around.” He says, firm, but a little scared. “Or with FRIDAY recording, either.” And- shit. Tony gets it. He’s walked himself right into this one. Peter looks up at him and suddenly he regrets getting closer to him because he can’t bring himself to move away.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter tries, wide, nervous, _wanting_ eyes.  
“No.”  
“Please, just-”  
“ **No.** ” He repeats, harsh enough to make Peter flinch. He hates it. He takes a step back, turning away from Peter as he pinches the bridge of his nose, already beginning to feel a sharp ache lingering behind his temples.

“Peter, we’re not talking about this.” He tries again, equally firm, but gentler.  
“So there is something to talk about?” Peter asks, quiet, but pleased. He shouldn’t even be _alone_ with Peter. Shouldn’t have teased him, should’ve just called his aunt right away and sent him home. What’s he supposed to say to that?  
“Fuck, that’s not what I meant.” He says, frustrated. “Come on, kid.” He pleads, whirling around to face Peter, hands gesturing between them. “Is this what you really want? Some jaded asshole old enough to be your father?” Peter looks offended.  
“There’s more to you than that.” He insists.  
“You’re missing the point!” Tony ploughs on, refusing to let Peter push him off course. “You should be out having crushes your _own age_ , having fun. Go get your heart broken a few times before you get it into your head that you _know what you want_ , because trust me, kid, you don’t.”

Peter just looks angry, now, and it doesn’t help the situation one bit when that anger propels him forward, into Tony’s space.  
“No.” He spits. “No, you don’t get to tell me that I don’t know what I want. I’m young but I’m not some- some fucking child!” Peter yells.  
“But you _are_!” Tony groans.  
“No, I’m not! And you don’t get to pretend that’s what you want, either, because we _both_ know it’s not.”  
“Sure it is.” Tony argues, flippant and stubborn. For a moment, Peter looks hurt, but he seems to take Tony’s words as a challenge, then. He steps even closer and visibly gathers the nerve to bring his fingers up to Tony’s shoulders. Tony feels every muscle in his own body go taut with the effort it takes not to _give in_ and pull Peter forward by the hips.

“Yeah?” Peter challenges, dragging his fingers down as he speaks. “You want someone else’s hands on me?” He clenches his fists so hard they ache just to stop himself from putting them on Peter, abhorred at the idea of anyone else being allowed to touch him. “You want someone else to fuck me?” The word is sin coming from Peter’s lips, never mind the idea behind it. Peter fiddles with one of the buttons on his shirt and he’s well aware he’s grinding his teeth down into dust. “You want someone else to _use_ me?”  
The aversion he feels to the suggestion is visceral, base. No. No, he absolutely does _not_ want anyone else to come anywhere near Peter. He wants to pin Peter down and make him beg, fill him up so good he can’t even begin to think about anyone else.

“I wish you would, Mr. Stark.” Peter says, quiet, desperate. Despite the soft tone, he still nearly prompts a heart-attack in Tony, who, for a moment, thinks he’s voiced his thoughts out loud. It takes him a minute to realize that Peter means he wishes Tony would _use him_ , and, well, that’s not much better.   
“Parker.” He warns, but it turns out to be unnecessary, because in the same breath Peter is pulling back with a sigh.  
“You can lie to yourself, Mr. Stark, but you can’t lie to me.” Peter still looks a little nervous, a little sad, but mostly he looks… sure. His eyes don’t leave Tony’s when he says it, and none of it bodes particularly well for him.

Peter leaves and Tony is left to stew, caught toeing the line between anger and arousal. In a way, this entire situation feels futile. Peter is _clearly_ determined, will not be swayed easily, and Tony is _himself_ . Maybe he should just give in now, drag Peter back and fuck him in every one of his sweet, _untouched_ holes until he cries. Give it to him as good as he thinks he wants it before it all, inevitably comes crashing down. Take and horde every first he has to offer before anyone else gets the chance. Sure, he doesn’t deserve it, but then again, who does?

The other part of him, the part that is much louder, thank god, reminds him of everything he’d lose if he did that. It doesn’t let him pretend it’s already a lot cause, doesn’t let him give himself an excuse to give in to impulse. Peter is just a kid with a crush and a lot of determination, surely he’s faced worse?

Between all of these thoughts, it takes him a while to realize that he’s pretty sure he’s been _had_.

The base of one of his machines is still warm when he goes to use it. He _knew_ that was a flimsy excuse, and suddenly he’s even more damn angry than he was before.

 

* * *

* * *

By some miracle, they make it out of the building without being caught. It feels a little silly, wandering around for an hour before they head back to the tower, but the time does nothing to calm Peter’s exhilarated nerves. He still feels half-giddy with adrenalin. He’s not even sure _where_ he found the nerve to push Mr. Stark like that, earlier. Maybe it had been what Billy and Tommy said earlier, about Harry. It made it feel a little less ridiculous, made him feel like the idea of being wanted wasn’t so foreign. The more amazing part of things is that it had _worked_.

Not only as a distraction, but in general. As soon as he’d gotten Billy’s text that they had the headband and were home-free, knowing they were gone and wouldn't see or hear him, Peter had just… let himself _try_ , figuring rejection a second time really couldn’t feel much worse than it did the first time. He’d been honest and much to his surprise, his own honesty seemed to draw out Mr. Stark’s. He’d cornered him more effectively than he could’ve managed if he’d planned it. He may not have admitted anything, but it was as good as. The way his hands had _shaken_ , it still makes Peter shiver to think of.

Of course, none of this stops his heart from leaping into his throat when Mr. Stark enters the kitchen while the three of them are currently in the process of putting together a dangerously large baking sheet of nachos. Tony smiles at them and teases them for their appetites, as he always does, but there’s something a little sharper in his eyes when he looks at Peter. It’s not quite what he’s looking for, in fact, some part of him sees that look and momentarily panics because what if Tony _knows_.

He’s stuck in his head, fretting over this possibility, until the conversation around him turns to Harry and he’s immediately ripped from his thoughts because _no_ .  
“Oh my god, _please shut up_ .” Peter urges desperately, of course, the boys just laugh.  
“Come on, dad. Help us convince Peter that Harry was trying to put _the moves_ on him!” Billy insists.  
“‘ _The moves’.”_ Tommy imitates, mocking him. “God, you’re so lame. Buuuut, really. You used to be, like, suave, right?”  
“Like, a really, really long time ago, right?” Billy adds.  
“Like, eons-”  
“Yes, okay. I get it, I’m old. Thank you very much.” Tony grumbles, seating himself at the island, across from where Peter is leaning, while Tommy and Billy snicker. He’s projecting more surliness than he feels, if his smile is any indication. Still, there’s something just slightly off about his demeanour. Peter can’t quite put his finger on what, though.

“So,” Billy begins. “He corners Peter in a shitty-”  
“Hey!”  
“ _Terrible-”_ Billy corrects, rolling his eyes. “Cafe, stares at him, tells him he had him _feeling romantic_ ,” Peter doesn’t bother to protest that Harry didn’t say it was him, specifically, that had him feeling that way. He knows it’s futile. “Then! He _takes a picture of him_ and posts it on instagram! Which- I know you probably don’t get how significant that is-”  
“You guys remember that I definitely know more about the internet than the two of you combined, right?” Tony reminds them, amused.  
“Not _like this_ .” Billy insists, before continuing. He’s probably right, to be fair. Mr. Stark might know how to do just about anything on the computer with his eyes closed, but he doesn’t necessarily _get_ the social currency of it as it is now. Either way, Peter would be amused if he wasn’t so distressed. “Anyways, what do you think, dad? Was he trying to _put the moves_ on Peter.” He grins, not so subtle phrasing it pointedly to bother Tommy.

Tony looks troubled.  
“Sure sounds like it, kid.” He confirms. Peter wants to feel vindicated, see jealousy in the barely-there anger behind Tony's eyes, but it’s not quite that. Or, not _only_ that, at any rate. He’s not the only one who notices.  
“Jeeze, dad. Lighten up.” Tommy comes around to nudge him.  
“I’m sure our little Peter’s virtue is in no real danger.” Billy adds, reassuringly.  
“ _I’m older than you!_ ” Peter interjects. Tommy jumps in, ignoring him entirely.  
“He wishes it was.” From there, things devolve into bickering, as they always do, and by the time their food is ready, Tony has already slipped out of the kitchen.

* * *

* * *

Peter’s just about to return to the living room, but when he opens the bathroom door, Tony is there. He jumps and Tony shoves him back inside, Peter would be excited if not for the look in his eyes.

“Who gave you that bruise?” He demands, and for a second Peter’s only thought is _Oh, shit._ He’s been caught, Tony knows about Spider-Man, he figured it out from the bruise. His heart is attempting to beat its way out of his chest when Tony dispels that particular concern. “Was it- Harry? Is he your boyfriend?” Tony growls, and Peter’s fairly sure he doesn’t actually mean for it to get as vicious as it does. Peter’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t correct him right away. “Peter, if he’s hurting you, _tell me_ . I know he’s powerful so you probably think no one could do anything, anyways-” Around this moment, Peter’s brain catches up with what Tony’s saying.  
“Oh, god- no. It’s not-”  
“-But I’ve got _more_ -”  
“No!” He nearly shouts, before deliberately calming his voice so Billy and Tommy don’t overhear him. “No, I swear, Mr. Stark. I hadn’t even seen him in years, until yesterday, and that was just five minutes in a cafe.”

“You’re sure?” Tony pushes, sounding reluctant to accept what Peter is saying.  
“I’m sure.” Peter reassures him. “I mean it, Mr. Stark. I- I-” It’s around this moment that he realizes his hands are pressed against Mr. Stark’s chest, having landed there at some point while he tried to talk Mr. Stark down from his anger, taking them back quickly, only a little embarrassed. He’d been so forward, earlier, but somehow this feels different. He’s not trying to push him, like he was. “I know you’d help me.” He finishes, finally. “I appreciate it, sincerely.” He hopes Mr. Stark can see the sincerity behind his words, and he must, because he relaxes, just a little. Relief washing over him.

The moment is broken, and it seems safe to push, now, just a little without ruining it.  
“You’re right, you know?” He looks up at him, rolling a lip between his teeth. Tony raises a brow.  
“I often am. What about, this time, specifically?”  
“Well, if that _was_ happening, you’d probably be the only one who could help me.” He wonders if Tony likes the idea of that, Peter, helpless without him. He suspects so. He’s about to ask him just that, when Tony interrupts him.  
“As fun as this little game is, Parker, you want to tell me what you were really doing in my workshop this afternoon?” Peter is definitely caught off guard. It stings, a little, the way Tony dismisses him.  
“I- what? I told you, I-”  
“ _Had a question_ , yeah, I get it.” Tony says, bitter. “Your little ‘use me’ routine was pretty clever, didn’t think you had it in you. That’s not a compliment, just so we’re clear. But-” And that? That _really_ hurts. It hurts, and it makes him more than a little angry. He pushes Tony back, meaning only to get him out of the way so he can reach the door, but instead he exerts more strength than he means to and Tony stumbles back into the door hard enough that Peter hears the gust of breath leave his lungs.

He instantly feels bad, taking a step back, fists clenched at his sides. He _didn’t_ mean to hurt Tony, and he really, really does not need to get himself found out.  
“I’m sorry.” He says, quietly, eyes squeezed shut. When he opens them, though, he gets louder. “I shouldn’t have done that, but you’re _wrong._ ”  
“Am I?” And Tony doesn’t sound challenging, like he’d expect. He still seems a little stunned by Peter’s strength, but he sounds more sincere, like he’s willing to believe he actually _might_ be wrong. “Because when I checked over the footage, my control tablet disappeared _right_ before the security feeds cut out.” Shit, _shit._ Peter knew he’d forgotten something, he was supposed to go back and erase the last few seconds.  
“I’m sorry.” Peter says again. “I-we lied.” He knows that Tony knows, from the way the tablet disappears, that the boys were involved. “But everything I said after, that _wasn’t_ an act, I know you know that. I know you _felt_ that and you don’t get to make any excuses for it. I won’t let you.”

For a long moment, they stare at each other, and Peter feels _so many things_ that he’s just glad he gets through the silence without crying.  
“Okay. You meant it, I’m sorry.” He sighs, relieved at Tony’s words, wonder if they mean Tony is finally willing to give a little. “But,” Tony adds, firm, but not aggressive. “I need you to tell me that the three of you aren’t in danger. I’m okay with the boys having some secrets, I won’t pretend I like it, but it’s normal. I can live with it, I just need to know you’re all going to be okay.” Peter’s heart is in his throat again, touched by Tony’s words. He didn’t have to include Peter, but he did, he always does. It makes it even harder to promise something he knows isn’t realistically true.

“We’re safe. I promise. I- I know I just lied to you, but I would tell you if they were really in danger.” That, at least, feels true. Tony seems to accept it.  
“Okay. Tell me if that changes.” Peter nods, a little nervous that he might cry if he speaks again, he’s not even sure why, anymore. “Alright,” Tony rights himself, opening the door behind him. “Get back to your game.”  
“But- Mr. Stark,” Peter pleads, not even sure what he’s going to ask. He reaches out to stop Tony from going, but he puts a hand out to stop him.  
“Come on, I think that’s enough for today. Don’t you?” And, yeah. Peter has to admit, Tony’s already given more than he thought he would, and Peter himself isn’t particularly in any state to push him til he snaps.

He nods, Tony leaves. It’s a while before he actually gathers himself enough to leave the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't actually mean for this chapter to be mostly emotional exposition, but here we are. More of Tony's POV, next time ♥ This may or may not undergo revisions in the next few days, we'll see.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Wiccan) [Billy's current costume](http://marvelrevolution.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/billy/Billy4.jpg/medium.jpg).  
> (Speed) [Tommy's current costume](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/marveldatabase/images/c/cd/Thomas_Shepherd_%28Earth-616%29_from_Young_Avengers_Vol_1_12_001.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20060629193120) \+ [he & Pietro](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xf1KPssmdcE/TIq1ABDbopI/AAAAAAAADUI/a0ClyG7C-Uc/s1600/avengers+the+children%27s+crusade+%232+\(4\).jpg), so you can see how disastrously close it is.

“This is not subtle.  _ What the hell?! _ ” Peter demands as soon as he rounds the corner to find Billy and Tommy, standing in the alleyway looking like the biggest morons alive.   
“Wow, what crawled up your ass and died?” Tommy snarks.  
“Uh, yeah. We can’t already have messed up, we’re just standing here!” Billy insists. 

“You,” Peter point to Tommy, moving closer so he can speak a little quieter without sacrificing urgency. “Look just like your uncle, dude! Why would- why?” Tommy looks indignant, Billy’s mouth drops open as he  _ really _ looks at Tommy’s costume.   
“Oh, shit. He’s right?”   
“Shut up. I look  _ way _ better than uncle Pietro.” Peter groans.  
“That is so not the point. And you!” He turns on Billy. “You’re not any better! Look at yourself, man, you’re Thor 2.0! You  _ don’t even have a mask _ !” Tommy bursts out laughing while Billy goes pink. 

“Wait until you hear his name!”  
“Shut up!” Billy hisses, kicking at his brother who avoids him easily.  
“I… don’t even want to ask.” Peter sighs. 

“No, Billy. Tell him.” Billy looks from Tommy, who is currently doing his best to shake off his laughter, and Peter, shamefaced, before he drops his head, defeated.  
“Wiccan.” A new round of laughter breaks from Tommy’s lungs and Peter feels new exhaustion seeping into his bones.  
“You have to be kidding me.”  
“It sounded cool!” Billy defends half-heartedly.   
“Sure. Cool. Who cares about a  _ secret identity. _ No one would ever guess that Wiccan could be related to the Scarlet Witch.”

The spend probably a little too long to be anything near inconspicuous arguing in the alleyway before they finally get going. The idea isn’t to go picking any fights, just yet, so much as to see how well their costumes adapt to their powers. Honestly, Peter had anticipated he’d feel a little silly, going around with Billy and Tommy in his sweatsuit when they had actual costumes, since his was unfinished when they’d had to escape the lab, but now that he’s seen what disasters they are, he feels better. 

On the bright side, their costumes definitely seem to be working. It had been easy enough, Mr. Stark already had so many adaptable fabrics in the system to work with, but he still feels pretty good about having made it work. 

They manage to make it through their test run pretty much unscathed. Sure, they’re not the sneakiest they’ve ever been, but they’re by far not the weirdest thing anyone in the city has ever seen and no one pays them any attention as long as they don’t get in anyone’s way. There are a few bumps and bruises here and there when they all start to get a little giddy, a little carried away, but it comes with the territory.

All in all, it’s a pretty good night. 

Because of this, it’s almost  _ too _ easy to roll with it when they run into one girl with a bow and arrows slung around her back and another whose powers Peter can’t quite discern, though he gets the distinct sense that she’s got some serious ones. Something in the way she carries herself. 

The girl with the bow introduces herself as Hawkeye, which is… interesting, and the other as America Chavez. Peter’s a little startled to find she doesn’t bother with any kind of persona, but he’s even more surprised when he discovers she’s apparently from an all-female lesbian utopia and capable of kicking holes in dimensions, at which point he can’t particularly blame her for the lack of secret identity.

“So what are you supposed to be?” Kate asks Billy once they’re all packed into the corner booth of a shitty local diner, splitting an obscene amount of greasy food. “Mini Thor?” Tommy laughs so hard he chokes on his fries.  
“Says you,  _ Hawkeye _ !” Billy replies, defensive, but not unamused.   
“I’ll have you know I got permission from the other Hawkeye to use this name. Not that I needed it.” Kate scoffs. It would come off entitled on anyone else, but from her it manages to feel endearing. He suspects it’s only because it’s true. There’s something distinctly hilarious about the idea of Clint bestowing anyone his blessing for… well, anything, and he gets the sense from her tone that it was exactly as ridiculous as it sounds. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to envision it for long, because both Billy and Tommy go totally, unsubtly silent at the mention of Clint. 

“Uh, guys?” The both look guiltily to each other, then back to him, then back to each other. No one speaks until America gets tired of the awkward silence that’s fallen over the table.

“You know you two idiots aren’t even wearing masks, right? We already know you’re Stark’s kids.” The both turn to her, having the audacity to look shocked. 

“I told you! I said exactly this!” Peter points out, before turning to America. “I told them this, literally a few hours ago!” Because sue him, he thinks she’s pretty cool. She  _ is _ pretty cool, and more than a tiny bit intimidating, she can  _ kick holes in the multiverse,  _ which is apparently a thing, but either way, he’s not going to tell her that.   
“And yet here they are. Aren’t you supposed to be looking out for them, sweatpants?”  
“I- hey!” He protests. “I was supposed to have a uniform, we just- something came up.”  _ Something _ had indeed come up, but he was hardly going to let himself go down that road. Normally it might be a little difficult to stop his mind in his tracks, but for once he’s pretty solidly distracted by what he’s planning to say, more than a little nervous.

“Look,” He says, angling his body so he can address Hawkeye properly. “We’re the only ones left with a secret identity, I think- I mean, they already know mine,” He nods to the twins. “I’m guessing America knows yours,” Both girls nod. “Wanna just- on three?” For a moment she just looks at him and he’s pretty sure he’s made a misstep, ready to apologize, before she bursts out laughing. 

“ _‘On three.’_ ” She mocks him, not exactly gentle, but definitely not mean spirited. Peter is pretty sure he can  _ feel _ the besotted look Tommy is sending her way from two spots down. “I’m Kate Bishop, losers.” She says with a sigh. Both the boys make noises like they know the name, Peter puts it down to rich kid circles.  
“Peter Parker.” He smiles where his mask is rolled up.

Once introductions are out of the way, they start swapping stories. Tommy and Billy (though Tommy especially, he can definitely see him trying to make an impression) exaggerate wildly, Peter… well, he’ll cop to embellishing here and there, but lucky for him he does have the most experience between the three of him, so he ends up coming off at least marginally cool. 

Kate stays somehow outgoing and elusive all at once, she’s clearly made for the superhero life, taking to the duality of it pretty naturally. America, of course, blows all of their stories out of the water and they’re so interesting he finds it’s impossible to even be disappointed about it. He’s  _ definitely _ going to have to convince her to let him pick her brain about the limits of her powers, sometime. He has the sneaking suspicion she can travel through time and that’s just too exciting to be ignored. 

Eventually they touch on the bank robbery from the other day. Peter is describing the one who’d taken the young girl hostage when America cuts in.

“Constricted pupils? Weirdly sweaty?” She asks, eyes intent. Peter’s not sure whether he’s happy to hear it or not. On the one hand, maybe she has information, on the other, that means this is definitely  _ a thing _ .  
“Yeah! Yeah, they were both inhuman, too.”  
“No. They weren’t.” America says.  
“Not technically.” Kate corrects, wincing a bit. “It’s… arguably worse.”  
“Uh, what the hell are you guys talking about?” Tommy demands, clearly a little impatient with being left out. 

“You never told us about their weird pupils!” Billy says, a little hurt. Peter feels a bit bad, he does, but he’s got his promise to Mr. Stark echoing around in his head, that he’d tell them if they were in any real danger. He doesn’t want to get them involved, he’s got a bad feeling about the whole situation.   
“We’re pretty sure it’s some kind of drug.” America goes on before Peter can think to stop her. Too late now. “We can’t figure out where they’re getting it. It’s not cropping up a lot, just at specific crime scenes.”  
“It forces people to mutate, we think.” Everyone winces at the thought. Peter wants to press for more information, any leads they have, when Billy and Tommy’s phones both go off. 

“It’s dad.” Billy says out loud. “Shit.”  
“We’re in trouble!” Tommy exclaims, clearly finding this deeply unjust.   
“What did we even do?!” Billy groans. Some part of Peter is low-key panicking about the possibility that this might be about today, someone spotted them who cared enough to tell Mr. Stark, but honestly he’s pretty sure Mr. Stark would just show up and take them back to the tower himself if he was  _ that _ mad. 

At least, that’s what he tells himself. He almost feels reassured. Really, Tommy and Billy are getting up to weird shit all the time, it could be anything. Tommy insists that they all exchange numbers before leaving, though Billy suspects it’s mostly an excuse to get Kate’s, and they head out.

Despite the cryptic Dad Texts, Peter feels like the day went pretty good.

Up until he rounds the corner and catches the sound of Iron Man’s thrusters just as he slips into view while Peter jumps back, stopping Tommy and Billy from rounding the corner as he shoves them backwards, frantic.

“Hey!”  
“What the f-” _  
_"Shut UP!” He hisses. Maybe Tony didn’t spot him. He knows Billy and Tommy weren’t around the corner yet, and it was pretty far, but who knows how much his helmet enhances his vision, what if he comes looking for him? What if-  
“Hey! Spiderling- sweatpants boy, whatever it is-” __Shit. Also, rude. He’s still too far away for Billy and Tommy to hear him.  
“Your dad is coming!” 

That’s pretty much all he has to say, Billy is opening a portal and Tommy has already disappeared through it.

“What about you!?”   
“It’s fine, he doesn’t know it’s me, remember?” Tony’s voice is getting closer and it’s all the urging Billy needs before he’s gone too. Peter turns around just in time to see Iron man round the corner and drop down onto his feet with a heavy, metallic thud. As he strides forward Peter resolutely does not allow himself to consider the fact that they’re alone, it’s even harder to reign in his imagination than normal when faced with all the power of the suit suggested by Tony’s every step.

* * *

* * *

Tony spots a flash of blue and red cotton three blocks down, disappearing as quick as it had flitted into view.

“FRIDAY, was that the kid with the webs?”   
_ “It was, sir.”  
_ “Great.” Tony makes a beeline for him, wondering why the kid bolted as soon as he saw him. Does he still think Tony’s going to turn him over to the police? If he’s smart enough not to get caught he’s got to be smart enough to realize Tony hadn’t even tried.

When he finally hits the alleyway he finds the kid, standing there. He looks a little nervous and it’s a little strange the way he was just waiting, but hey, he shoots webs and fights criminals in a sweatsuit and goggles. He probably  _ is _ a little weird, Tony won’t hold it against him.

“See you’re still in one piece.” He observes, aiming for casual. The kid just shrugs in response. “What, are you shy, now?”  
“No.” He insists, Tony can’t help grinning at the edge of petulance in his voice, though he does try to collect himself when he continues. “I just- didn’t expect Iron Man to follow me into some weird alley, is all.”  
“Oh, yeah. How dare I have questions for the kid-”  
“Not a kid!” He insists, further cementing Tony’s suspicion that he’s likely in his teens.  
“- _For the_ _kid_ who stopped a bank robbery with some weird webbing. You know, I wouldn’t have had to follow you into some ‘weird alley’ if you hadn’t decided to hide in one.”

If pressed, Tony will admit he’s a little amused by the kid’s dramatics. Speaking of which.

“How old are you, anyways? Eighteen?” He hedges.   
“Yes. Eighteen, yeah.” The kid says, entirely unconvincing and after a little too long. Tony says nothing. “Fine! Seventeen.” Tony can almost hear his shame-face when he admits it, curling in on himself just a little. “...almost.” Jesus Christ. _Sixteen_. 

“Shit. Shouldn’t you be in social studies, or something?”  
“It’s a Saturday.”  
“That is  _ so _ not the point I’m trying to make, here.”  
“Look, Mr.-Iron Man,” And that’s a tiny bit adorable. It’s awful.  
“You can say Stark, kid, everyone knows.”   
“Er- right.” There’s something suspiciously hesitant about the kid’s voice. “I’ll be seventeen in a few days, I swear!” He takes an eager step forward, looking like he’s about to beg Tony to let him stay up past his bedtime, which, not helping his case, before he freezes. He hasn’t got a clue what’s getting to him, but he’s acting a little buggy. No pun intended.

“Just- don’t be afraid to come by the tower, alright?” Tony finds himself caught between a rock and a hard place, here. The kid is  _ sixteen _ , that’s damn young. Only a little older than his boys, and if he won’t let them get into vigilantism he’s pretty sure this kid’s family wouldn’t be too keen on it, either. But, then again, the kid does sound sincere when he says that he’ll be seventeen in a few days, a piece of information which itches at him for a reason he can’t quite remember, and it’s true that a secret identity is pretty important when you haven’t got a few billion dollars to protect yourself from anyone who comes knocking.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, some snark, maybe some argument, any kind of pushback, but instead what he gets is… a little bit of awe? 

“You mean it?” The kid asks, voice tinged with that little something that’s not entirely unfamiliar from the voices of fans who run into him on the street.    
“Yeah, kid. I mean it. Maybe we can get you fixed up a little. Get you out of that damn sweatsuit and into literally anything else.”  
“Hey!” He cries out. “I worked really hard on this!”   
“Did you?” It looks more like he cut the arms off a sweatshirt and took a sharpie to it. “Did you really?”

The kid shrugs, but he finally seems to be relaxing a little. It’s nice to see.

“I didn’t want to waste time on the costume, seemed more important to be helping people, you know?” Tony grins behind his mask.  
“I know. Speaking of which, what all can you do, anyways?” At this question, the kid perks up, Tony’s not surprise. Now that he’s gotten the notion he might be something of a fan, he figures it’s fair enough that he’s probably a little excited to show off.   
“Well- um. I can walk on walls and ceilings and stuff, no problem. I’m pretty fast, I’m  _ really _ strong, all of my senses are enhanced, like,  _ way _ enhanced, it’s almost too much, sometimes.” That must be why he wears those god-awful goggles, then. “And, uh, I can do this?” He shoots a glob of webbing at the trashcan and Tony immediately reaches out to touch it. 

“Alright, I’ll admit I’m impressed. Ever test how strong this stuff is?” There’s a vaguely suspicious beat of silence.  
“...No. Wanna help me?” Tony turns to him just in time to have his hand webbed against the trash bin. The kid bursts out laughing and Tony is, momentarily, lost for words.

“I am soooo sorry!” The kid gasps out between laughs.  
“Oh, really? You don’t seem all that sorry.” Tony says, halfway between amused and annoyed. Not to mention a little curious.   
“Don’t I?” He wheezes, slowly getting hold of himself. Tony is sincerely trying to pull his hand free without the aid of his blasters, but damn, whatever the kid has cooked up has some serious strength to it. Which is about when Tony has a horrible, horrible thought.  
“Did this  _ come out of you?! _ ” He demands, dreading the answer.  
“Oh, um, yeah! It’s technically a bodily fluid- or a solid? Whichever one makes you feel better.”  
“How about  _ neither _ .” That just sends the kid into another fit of laughter as Tony works to free himself. 

Eventually, he manages, but not without the help of his blasters. It’s impressive.

“So what you just… point and shoot?”  
“Uh-yeah! Yeah. Um, I use these to help me aim.” He holds his wrists out for Tony to inspect the flat lengths of metal that are strapped there, just a little skin showing around the edges.  
“You made these yourself?”  
“Yeah. In shop class.” Shop class, of course. Because he’s in high-school. Because he’s sixteen.  
“Listen, kid. I won’t force you to do anything, but I really mean it when I say come by the tower if you have to, alright? You might be fast but I’m willing to bet you aren’t bulletproof. Sooner or later someone’s going to make sure you find out for sure.” He wonders if this is altruism, misguided guilt, or paternal instinct. Either way, he’s not too worried. It’s the right thing to do.

“Yeah, Ir-Mr. Stark.” There’s that itch again. Something familiar. “I’ll- if I have to, I will.” Tony believes him.  
“Good.” He steps back. “Alright, kid. I’d better get going.” Kids to discipline.   
“Somewhere to be?” The kid asks, oddly teasing.   
“Something like that.” He affirms. He turns to take off, but turns back at the last second. “Hey, do me a favour?” The kid looks up. “If you find anyone else with the screwed up eyes, stay the hell away from them.” The kid nods, and Tony takes off. Now his conscience can rest easy, he’s pretty much certain the kid will stop by the tower and he’s warned him off what he’s pretty sure is something pretty nasty. 

* * *

* * *

He finds the apartment dubiously quiet when he gets home. He  _ knows _ the boys, and, as he’s certain anyone with kids of any age can attest to, too much silence is never a good thing.

He finds them  _ doing homework _ in the living room. He has to draw on every ounce of strength he has not to laugh. If ever there was a clearer admission of guilt, he’d have to see it to believe it. He clears his throat from the doorway, crossing his arms and putting on his best stern face.

“Boys.”   
“Hey, dad!” Tommy says, entirely too cheery.  
“Hi.” Billy adds with a quiet smile. He’s always been a little better at fibbing, but Tony’s already seen through them.  
“Don’t suppose either of you would like to tell me why you were absent from school yesterday?” He asks, cutting to the chase. They both look to each other, then back to Tony, then back to each other. That’s when the excuses start flowing. They are, of course, entirely contradictory and rapidly growing more inconsistent. Again, it’s a struggle not to laugh. 

“Quiet.” He cuts in, holding up a hand. “I  _ know _ you two have been up to something with Peter. I don’t know what, but he promised me that none of you were in danger. Can you promise me the same thing?”  
“Yes! Of course, we’d never-”  
“Dad, we’re not  _ stupid _ , we’re not-”  
“Alright, alright. That’s all I wanted to know.” They both look hesitant to believe him and he can’t help sighing, pushing, dropping his arms and walking into the room to sit down on the table. Billy is sitting on the floor to his right with Tommy sprawled out on the couch behind him.

“Listen, I love you guys.” They both groan, but there’s no real agony behind it. In a way he loves it, because he knows they never doubt that he means it, like he’d had to. “And I trust you. I know you guys need some things that are just for you, so as long as you can swear to me that you’ll come to me if you’re ever in real danger, you can have that.”  
“I swear, dad.” Billy promises, looking up at him a little misty eyed.  
“Me too.” Tommy says quietly. Jesus. He’s certain he’d never been this emotional before he got the boys. Half certain. 

“Alright, obligatory family hug, come here.” He holds his arms out, they both groan but they slip into his arms without any real protest, squeezing tight. He allows himself a moment to drop a kiss to both their heads before releasing them. “Good talk, boys.” He grins, getting up. “You’re both still grounded for the weekend, though.”  
“What?!” Billy cries.  
“You _tricked us_!” Tommy accuses.   
“I didn’t trick you, I love you. But, whatever secret you’re keeping, no more skipping school for it.” With that he leaves, finally allowing himself to laugh quietly once he’s rounded the corner, the sound of their protests following him down the hall. 

* * *

* * *

He’s in his workshop and it is, somehow, becoming more impossible to concentrate by the second. He’s got too much going on in his head. He’s trying to focus on the composition of the drug that’s been mutating people. He’s gathered a limited sample of it from the blood samples he took, and if he could just get hold of some unique component it might give him the lead he needs to start tracking down the source of it.

Unfortunately, this is proving near impossible when his mind keeps being drawn away.

For one, there’s that damn spider kid. He can’t shake the itch he gets when he thinks about him. He’s certain there’s something up with the kid. Something  _ familiar _ , something he’s not quite getting. It’s infuriating, like a word stuck on the tip of your tongue but so, so much worse. 

And yet, not as bad as everything  _ else _ currently driving him up the wall.

There’s  _ something going on _ . There’s something going on and he doesn’t know what. He’s never coped well with being kept out of the loop, even less so when it comes to his children. Of course, he can’t think of what it is that’s going on with them without thinking about Peter, who is somehow involved, and that, well. That’s a whole other can of worms. 

He can’t stop thinking about Peter’s hands. His fingers dragging down Tony’s chest while he spoke about being fucked, being  _ used _ , as if he had a clue what he was talking about, asking of Tony through his actions. It hadn’t been easy to let him step away. He’d  _ wanted _ , he’d wanted nothing more than to drag Peter close and show him just how used he could feel, but. But somehow even that hadn’t come close to the feeling spurred inside him when he’d cornered Peter in the bathroom. Likely not the best and brightest of his ideas, but it was done, now.

Peter’s hand pressed flat over his chest, unthinking, as he promised Tony he wasn’t letting anyone else touch him. Violently or otherwise. Of course he’d been worried, of course, regardless of feelings, he’d do anything to help Peter if he thought someone was abusing him, but, now, like this, he knows that despite those facts, his actions were the furthest thing from altruistically motivated. 

He’s only able to admit it to himself, now, because Peter had forced him to acknowledge that there  _ is _ something to admit.

The feeling that had sprung up in his chest when he’d connected the bruise on Peter’s face with the idea that someone- Harry, might be hurting him. He’d felt angry, and, even more than that, sickly, desperately jealous. That Peter would let someone else touch him, especially like _that_ , take something from him he can never get back and spit on it when Tony- Tony wants it so _damn_ _much_. And maybe he doesn’t deserve it, but he’d cherish it anyways, savour every last second it would take to strip away the innocence and cherish everything Peter would let him take.

It’s a dangerous way to think.

Very dangerous.

He can’t let himself start thinking that he would, somehow, be the best of Peter’s options. A voice in the back of his head insists that of  _ course _ he would be. Who else would want it as bad? Who else could make it as good? But no, he can’t listen to it. The best thing for Peter is that he’s with someone his own damn age. 

Better Harry Osborn than him, he thinks. 

And, depressing as that thought is, it’s somehow also the one that manages to shock him out of his state of mental limbo.

Harry Osborn.

Osborn.  _ Oscorp. _

That’s what the connection was. He knew there was something he wasn’t seeing, something in plain sight. Everyone who’s cropped up with the drug in their system, so far, has been equipped with Oscorp tech. Once or twice would be a coincidence, but this is a pattern. Either whoever is supplying them is intercepting Oscorp tech, or it’s coming straight from the source. 

“FRIDAY, I need a reason for a meeting at Oscorp tomorrow. Whatever you can dig up, as high up as it goes.”  
_ “Of course.”  _

Honestly, the meeting will serve mainly as a pretence to get into the building, from there he can get into their systems. Hopefully he’ll be able to identify either a security leak that might point to interception or some nefarious dealings taking place within the company itself. 

_ “Would you like me to inform Ms. Potts of this meeting, sir.” _ Of course, it’s a business meeting, for all appearances. It would be strange to keep it a secret. Besides, he thinks, he should probably warn her on the off chance that things go sideways and it becomes safer for the boys to fly out to L.A. to be with her.   
“Yeah, tell her to call me in the morning.” He knows he won’t remember, he’s gotten better overall but he rarely manages when he’s following some type of lead, scientific or otherwise.

He’s tempted, so tempted to stay up again. Another sleepless night, but FRIDAY informs him that his meeting won’t take place until midday and he knows he’s hardly slept a wink the last few nights. In a feat of self control he’d never have cared to achieve before the boys, he forces himself to call it quits for the night, close enough to satisfied with his breakthrough to get as close to well rested as he can manage. 

Of course, his body has other plans.

While he’s successfully managed to compartmentalize the meeting tomorrow, as soon as his head hits the pillow his subconscious wastes no time at all bringing up the phantom feeling of Peter’s hand against his chest. 

He can’t stop thinking about how earnest, sincere he’d looked. How open his eyes had been as he promised he was safe. Tony thinks about what he’d have done if he wasn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am in love with America Chavez, thank you for asking.
> 
> P.S. I realize this is a controversial thing to say while writing a Peter/Tony fic, but Kate & Clint are actually my [fave mentor/mentee relationship](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/37200000/Clint-Barton-and-Kate-Bishop-marvel-comics-37265693-266-400.jpg) (though it is often debatable who is the mentor and who is the mentee).


	5. Chapter 5

Going to see Harry at his office? Both more and less weird than he expects.

It’s less weird because, as it turns out, Harry was expecting him to do just that.

It’s more weird because, since he was expecting it, so was everyone else.

When he informs the receptionist in the lobby that he’s there to see Mr. Osborn they look about ready to laugh him out of the building until he gives his name. The way they light up is a little uncanny valley, but apparently they’ve been told to expect him.

Harry’s personal assistant comes to collect him, which- she’s _older than Harry_ and it feels a little weird to think about, but she seems nice. He confesses that he wasn’t even sure he’d find Harry here, him still being a teenager, and all.

“When Mr. Osborn turned seventeen he was legally emancipated and allowed to begin sitting in on the responsibilities which he’ll take control of when he turns eighteen, as per the late Mr. Osborn’s wishes.” She explains, mostly cursory.

It makes enough sense, but he imagines it’s a weird feeling. Being around for all the important stuff but not actually getting to _do_ anything. He wonders if Harry really even wants to. She leads him to Harry’s office and informs him that Harry will join him in a few minutes.

He looks around the room, it’s Norman’s old office, he’d been by a few times when he was younger, but never really lingered. It doesn’t seem to have changed much since then, from what he can remember. He wonders if it’s hard for Harry to think of it as his office, rather than his father’s. Wonders if it’s a little haunting to see it looking just like it did before he died, or if it’s comforting, somehow. Wonders if, up until a few weeks ago, he’d even been in this room since his father died.

It’s strange to wonder if the room might be comforting. Norman was never cold, not around him, at least, but he and Harry always had a strained relationship. Maybe it’s just his imagination, but he sees more of that side of him reflected in the decor of the office than any other.

“Peter?” He’s interrupted from his thoughts by Harry, pushing through the door with a smile on his face but an unmistakable tiredness to his eyes. Harry walks over, clearly intending a hug, and Peter stands from the couch he’d been deposited on. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever show up.” He confesses when he’s got Peter pulled close.

They pull back from the hug and this time Harry’s hands don’t linger too long. He’s expecting Harry to guide them over towards the desk but instead he’s happy to sit down on the couch with Peter.

“I was a little nervous I’d… overstepped?” He hedges as Peter gets settled. There’s a little pink to his cheeks that lets Peter know what he means.  
“Oh. Oh! No, dude, it’s fine.”  
“Yeah?” Harry asks with a grin that says Peter is _not_ very good at getting his point across, right now.  
“I mean- no. I- there is someone, maybe.” Harry raises a brow as Peter tries and fails not to go red. He knows he’s reaching, here. “It’s complicated but it’s… it’s real. I just meant I’m not, like, upset or anything. I’m a bit flattered? Just, y’know…” He trails off, not sure what more to say that won’t feel even more mortifying.

“There’s someone.” Harry nods, clarifying, grinning still but with a distinctly less alarming edge.  
“Yep.” Peter confirms, cheeks still burning. Harry looks amused.  
“Well, I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed, but I’m also definitely curious.” It’s a very pointed not-question, and Peter? Peter is tempted. He hasn’t actually been able to _talk_ to anyone about this. Still can’t, not really, but… maybe a little.  
“I can’t tell you who he is, he’s- um. Older.” Harry’s jaw drops and he looks delightedly scandalized. Peter is certain it’s at least thirty percent a put-on.

“Parker, an _older man_ ?!”   
“Oh, god.” Peter’s hands fly up so he can bury his face in them.  
“And here I always assumed _I’d_ be the one with daddy issues.” Harry teases, shoving his shoulder.  
“Jesus, stop talking.” Peter begs, though he’s smiling behind his hands.

He feels giddy from sharing even that much, though he refuses to say anything else when Harry presses for more information on him.

“Alright, fine. It’s a _secret_ , I get it.” Harry laughs. “So why’s it only a ‘maybe’? Daddy-”   
“Don’t call him that, _oh my god_ .” Peter groans, mortified.  
“Dearest,” Harry continues, undeterred and enjoying his horror. “Not into jailbait?”  
“You’re the worst.” Peter declares emphatically. “Did you know that?”

“Come on! It’s a valid question!” Peter glares at him, but eventually deflates with a sigh.  
“I mean. Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”  
“Well, it’s a good thing you’ll be seventeen in a few days, huh?” And- wow. Peter is somehow surprised he remembered that. It must show.  
“Come on, man, you didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, did you?”  
“I- I guess I did?” Peter admits. Harry looks a little wounded. “Sorry.

“Don’t worry about it.” Harry shrugs, slightly put-out edge to his expression falling away as quick as it appeared when his eyes light up. “You got any plans?”  
“Um,” Peter starts, unsure. He hadn’t _really_ , but he has questionable feelings about the look in Harry’s eyes. “Not really? Was just gonna get pizza and watch a movie with some friends?” He doesn’t mean for it to come as a question, but he doubts it would’ve mattered when Harry barely even waits for him to finish speaking before responding.  
“Great, bring them!”   
“Bring them where, exactly?”   
“You’ll see.”

That’s totally not ominous at all.

But- hey, when’s the last time Peter went out to do _whatever_ Harry’s got in mind? Probably never. He doubts Billy and Tommy would be anything but excited, despite not being Harry’s biggest fans. Maybe he could even invite Kate and America? Whatever unknown thing Harry is planning is little nerve wracking, but growing more exciting by the second.

Peter’s pretty sure that if he can’t even get drunk with his new powers, not that he’d even know where to start managing anything better than drinking booted liquor in a park, being underage still, but he has a feeling that’s not such an issue for Harry.

So, he doesn’t talk himself out of it, instead sending off a quick text to Billy and Tommy letting them know they have actual _plans_ and that they should go ahead and invite America and Kate along.

Peter’s giddiness wears off as the conversation wears off, eventually turning to more serious topics. A shadow falls over Harry’s face when the subject of Norman’s death comes up, but it doesn’t feel like mourning. Something closer to dread.

“When I turned seventeen,” Harry swallows, hard. “I got letters. He wrote them when he was dying.” Peter shivers. From the sounds of it, they didn’t contain anything particularly comforting. “I’m dying, Peter. I will be, at least. Sooner than later, sooner than I should.”   
“That- that’s not- what do you mean?” Peter stammers, stunned. That was definitely not what he’d expected to hear. There’s a heavy, sickly sinking feeling in his gut. He just got Harry back, it’s not fair. This isn’t _fair._

“The disease that killed him. It’s genetic. I’ve already tested positive.” He’s finding it increasingly impossible to breath or speak or _think_ beyond the heavy lump forming in his throat. “He apologized.” Harry laughs bitterly. “For what? What difference does it make?”  
“Harry-” Peter chokes out, desperate. “There has to be something- a cure- treatment?” Harry shakes his head.  
“There’s nothing, Pete. They’ve been trying for years, dad made sure they would. He knew this would happen. I can hide the symptoms, for a while. Make it less painful. That’s really all there is.” It just feels wrong. There has to be something, things like this shouldn’t happen.

Unfortunately, Peter is already more than familiar with the fact that life is rarely fair.

“I have an idea, though.” Harry confesses, quiet but bold, after a moment of heavy silence. There’s something about the determined set of his eyes that makes Peter nervous.   
“What is it?”

“I think- I know it sounds crazy, but mutating could be the key to healing. If I could just…” Harry trails off, gripping his hair, frustrated, and rising from the couch. He looks a little unhinged, pacing around the room like he is, and an ugly suspicion is swelling in the pit of Peter’s stomach. “If I can force the mutation, regenerate the cells, enhance them, make them stronger, I can beat the disease. I’ll be too strong for it.” He insists.  
“Harry…” Peter starts, quiet. He’s not even sure what to say. His heart is beginning to beat harder in his chest, this is not good.  
“No, Peter. I know, I really, really know how it sounds, but I’m so close already. We’ve been working on it, we’re close, there’s just something _missing_!” He hisses, throwing his hands up in the air. Finally, he stops pacing, settling back against the desk on the other side of the room. He still seems jittery, Peter doesn’t feel reassured by his sudden stillness.

“When you say you’re close…?” He’s afraid of the answer, afraid he already knows just how close Harry is.   
“We’ve almost got it. The mutation works, they just don’t last.” He finishes, bitter edge to his voice. Peter suspects there’s even more to it than he knows.  
“You haven’t tried it, have you?” Despite how clearly heinous this is, because Peter knows, he _knows_ that someone has, he’s still worried for Harry. He wants to believe that this is just desperation forcing him to take things too far. Maybe he doesn’t even know what’s being done with the drug he’s created, it’s not too far fetched to think that someone else could be distributing it without his knowledge.

“No.” He swears, a lie. “No, no, Peter. I would never take it if I weren’t sure it was safe.” Peter’s chest aches.

The rest of their conversation passes in a haze, Peter feels like his head is full of static. As terrible as it was, he’d been more than a little elated to finally have a mission. Something he could uncover and stop himself so the world would see who he was, what he could do. Now that he’s finally got a lead, it doesn’t feel half as good as he wanted. There’s just something so cosmically unfair about the fact that it has to be like this, that is has to be Harry.

Still, there has to be something he can do. He’ll take down whatever is going on, but he’s not giving up on Harry just yet. He needs _help_. If he really has to, he’ll turn him over, but not without irrefutable proof, he’s going to need it one way or another.

So, that’s his priority.

He needs to find the source of the drug, find the lab where it’s being made, and track the leak from there, do what he can to get in the way of it getting out, for now. Until he’s got what he needs, he’ll just try to help Harry see that there has to be another way.

This is what he’s thinking about as Harry walks him out of his office and down to the lobby, thanking Peter for coming to see him and insisting that he sees him out himself.

This is what he’s thinking until they run right into Mr. Stark, currently being led towards the elevator doors they’ve just stepped out of by Harry’s assistant.

“Mr. Osborn! I was just on my way upstairs with yours and Mr. Stromm’s six o’clock, Mr. Stark.”

The split second look in his eyes when Tony spots him is sharp, but it passes so quick it’s almost hard to say for sure it had been there at all, face falling into what he likes to think of as Tony’s grown-up face.

“Mr. Stark,” Harry greets, reaching out to shake his hand. Peter isn’t even so sure _why_ he feels so nervous, but it’s enough to make him feel sick. “I’ll be up in just a moment. Just seeing a friend out.” He grins, hand coming up to squeeze Peter’s shoulder. He feels an inexplicable need to shake his hand off when Tony eyes the touch, face unreadable, but that would only make him look more guilty and he’s _not_ .  
“Not a problem, see you in a few.” Tony allows, just a little too casual for the setting, but that’s not surprise.

Peter catches his eyes one last time as they walk away and the way he can’t read anything from the older man’s expression is making his palms sweat. Harry’s giving him a weird look so he does his best to force a better facade of calm, realizing he’s probably been showing how rattled he was a little more than he should’ve. He wants to trust Harry, but he’s far from certain it’s a good idea.

As soon as he’s sure he’s out of sight, he makes a beeline for the nearest place to hide and changes into his suit. He can’t wait, he’s about to crawl out of his skin with the nerves clawing at his chest, he needs to do something _now_. It’s easy enough to slip past security, stay high enough to avoid the cameras, but once Peter reaches one of the floors where the high security labs are located, he realizes that a few employees have stayed late.

He considers pulling a fire alarm, but the risks that would come with it are more trouble than the distraction is worth. There could be emergency protocol that locks down the data or screws up the experiment, in case of prying eyes, and then he’d be set back. Not to mention he’d be putting himself on a timer, waiting for emergency services to arrive. So, yeah, not worth it.

All there really is for it is to wait them out, it’s a pain but he’s not going to back out now. Keeping quiet, he slips into an air duct and waits.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, but by the time the last lab technician heads for the door, it’s getting dark out and his phone battery is running low. He waits for the door to close and immediately slips out of the vent. He’s mostly managed to keep his anxieties at bay while waiting, but they’ve returned in full force, now.

Using his webs to adjust the cameras just enough that he can navigate the majority of the lab while remaining in their blind spots, he drops down noiselessly from the ceiling to examine the contents of the room. It occurs to him, as he does this, that he hasn’t actually got much clue what he’s looking for, as far as physical evidence goes.

On top of that, the technicians have done a good job cleaning what needs to be clean, leaving the lab neat and orderly and unfortunately difficult to puzzle out the purpose of it.

Luckily for him, they’ve also left one of their computers on, clearly running some kind of overnight analysis. There’s security, of course, but nothing he can’t crack, he’s sure. He’s not at all familiar with Oscorp’s system, but he doubts it could be much different than Tony’s, and he’s certain it won’t be as tight.

It only takes him a few minutes to get into the computer, and once he does… he’s not sure what, exactly, he’s looking at. There’s so much, years on years of data detailing failed experiments. The current analysis doesn’t seem particularly notable in itself, but the context behind it puts something heavy in his chest. He wishes he’d known about this earlier, there’s no chance he’ll be able to get through all of this before he has to leave, not even close, not even a fifth of it, he needs a way to back it up.

He’s still agonizing over it when the hair on the back of his neck stands up. There are footsteps headed down the hall, quiet, someone doesn’t want to be heard. There’s no time to erase all evidence that he’d accessed the computer, so he just shuts off the monitor and ducks behind the nearest metal table, heart thumping heavy in his chest.

The door opens and the footsteps come to a standstill. As soon as the door closes behind them, they speak.

“Hate to burst your very stealthy bubble, but my glasses can pick up heat signatures, you might as well save us both some time and just turn yourself in, easy.” Tony speaks, nonchalant. And- _shit_ , Tony. What the hell is Tony doing, creeping around Oscorp’s lab.

Tony clears his throat, clearly not caring much to be kept waiting, and Peter remembers that Iron Man had warned him away from the drugged up almost-inhumans they’d been encountering. Maybe he’s come to the same conclusion Peter has, it’s not like he’d have much luck trying to sneak in as Iron Man, it makes sense that he’d try like this. Hide in plain sight.

Peter thinks-hopes, that Tony trusts Spider-Man, at least a little. Maybe he’ll let him help instead of trying to send him away.

He stands up slowly, knowing that Tony isn’t likely to be very forgiving if he has to ask again.

“Sweatpants?!” Tony exclaims, something about his surprise feels feigned. He’s not sure what it means, but it doesn’t feel like a good sign.  
“Uh, hey, Ir-Mr. Stark.” He wants to kick himself for how sheepish it comes off, but this is really, really not a situation he’d wanted to be in, and something about Tony is throwing him seriously off balance, even more so than normal.

“You know I can’t let you get away, this time, right?” Tony asks, voice uncharacteristically hard.  
“I-what?” It’s genuinely the last thing he’d expected to hear. He’s- _scared._ Tony trusts him, doesn’t he? At least a little?  
“Come on, kid. Oscorp weapons are the only notable connection between the drug cases, and here you are, creeping around their high security lab. Looks a little bad, don’t you think?”

“No! No, Mr. Stark, I was just- I wanted to help-” Peter pleads, hands up in the air like he can force back Mr. Stark’s words, make him take them back as he scrambles out around the table, to stop a few steps away from the older man.  
“Sorry, kid. You haven’t exactly left me much choice.”  
“ _Please,_ ” He begs, he hates that he can hear the warble in his voice so he does his best to block it out. “Please, I only wanted to help. I-I found out they were doing experiments, I thought if I could get proof-” Something in Tony’s face shifts and his vision is beginning to blur, eyes wet behind his goggles.

“Peter.” He tries to cut in, but Peter hardly hears him over the rushing in his ears.  
“I just- I wanted you to see how good I could be. Wanted everyone to know, I can _help people_ , please, don’t-”   
“ _Peter._ ” Tony says again, louder, sharper. He takes a step closer to Peter when he says it and Peter crumbles. Shoulders slumping and hands coming up to hide his face even though his mask obscures it.  
“I’m sorry, Mr. St-” He loses his words, mid-sentence, when he registers what Mr. Stark just _said,_ his body goes still but his heart is beating a thousand miles a minute. He feels suffocated, anxiety rising so strong in his chest that it hurts, it burns, this can’t- he can’t-

“Peter, take off the damn mask. I know it’s you.” Tony… he doesn’t sound happy. He doesn’t sound anything near happy. He’s never going to forgive him, he’ll _never_ get to be an Avenger, now. Not after this. He feels the crushing weight of his disappointment so hard it makes him dizzy as he reaches up to drag his mask and goggles off with trembling hands, trying hard to hold back the sobs that want to wrack through his chest. He hasn’t got much left to lose, but he- he doesn’t want Mr. Stark to see him cry, not like that. He doesn’t want him to see him as even more of a child than he already does.

Tony doesn’t say anything and Peter can’t stand to look at him, too afraid of what he’ll see.

“I’m sorry.” Peter says quietly, into the silence between them, wringing his mask in his hands. It must break the dam of restraint that’s been keeping Tony’s anger at bay, because the older man immediately steps forward, so intent Peter stumbles back out of instinct.  
“I asked you if you were safe.” He bites out. His voice is angry, so angry, but there’s also an undercurrent of hurt and somehow that feels even worse. “I specifically asked you. Is _this_ your idea of safe? Do you even understand that you could get yourself killed, making enemies like this?” Peter meets his eyes, finally, unable to stop himself, and he’s not sure anyone has ever looked at him like that, that angry. That _worried_ .  
“I’m sorry, M-”  
“You think I care if you’re sorry?!” Mr. Stark exclaims, too loud, making him flinch. It’s one thing for Mr. Stark to catch him, another for anyone else. “I care that you’re _alive_ , kid.” And Peter, Peter can’t hold back the tears, at that. He hates the way he can feel his face twist as a sob forces its way out from inside of him.

“I- I-”  
“ _Don’t_ apologize again. Just go to the tower, don’t let the boys see you. Wait for me there and don’t you dare even _think_ about going anywhere else.” Tony instructs him, using a voice that leaves absolutely zero room for Peter to consider doing anything else. “You understand me, Parker?” Peter nods, Tony holds his eyes for a moment, searching, before he turns away with a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Peter takes it as a dismissal, unable to take another second of Tony’s disappointment in him.

* * *

* * *

Spider-Man takes off his mask and Peter Parker stares back at him. Tony is biting his cheek so hard in an effort to keep all of the blistering frustration he feels from spilling out that he tastes blood in his mouth.

Christ. He knew it, he _knew it_. Even somewhere in the back of his mind, yesterday, he knew it. Once he’d come face to face with him, that’s the instinct he’d acted on. Spider-man might’ve seemed like a bit of a lunatic, but never a threat, he wouldn’t have actually turned him in, but something had niggled at the back of his mind, the urge to push him, to dig, knowing already what he was likely to uncover. He’d been right.

In the middle of Peter’s begging his voice had broken, falling into its normal cadence, every day tone, and that had been it. Forcing him to take off his mask had just been rubbing salt in the wound, not Peter’s, but his own. He’d been a fool. He’d trusted Peter, because he was sweet and smart and wanting, and somehow that had blinded him.

He wants to believe that Peter was, at least, telling the truth when he swore he’d go to Tony if the boys were in trouble, but it feels foolish to let himself keep any stock in Peter’s word, now. Foolish, yet cruel not to. It makes his head hurt.

Not particularly interested in spending any longer dwelling on this particular revelation until he has to, he tries, and mostly fails, to compartmentalize it, and gets to work. He copies the contents of the computer, and takes a few covert samples that seem like they might hold some promise, before exiting the lab. He doesn’t run into anyone who questions him on his way down to the lobby, and he’s glad for it, not sure he’d have cared enough to come up with anything nearing a convincing lie.

When he makes it home, he passes through the apartment, making sure the boys haven’t broken their grounding. There’s music coming from Tommy’s room, loud enough to filter out despite the sound proofing, he leaves him to it, having learned, by virtue of having been a teenage boy himself, that if one is making enough noise that you can’t hear what they’re doing, you probably don’t _want_ to hear them doing it.

Billy’s room is quiet, and he knocks softly on the door.

“Yeah?” Billy calls out, Tony cracks the door open, just enough to lean in and see his son curled up against the headboard, surrounded by a slightly unreasonable number of blankets. Tony’s pretty certain he didn’t always have that many.

“Just checking in. You feeling alright?” He steps into the room, moving closer so he can take a seat on the bed, holding the back of his hand up to Billy’s forehead. He knows it won’t actually tell him anything, but his mother had always done it for him, it had always felt comforting. Old habits.  
“Jus’ a cold.” Billy assures him, voice plugged. It makes Tony smile a little.  
“Yeah, well, I’ll have the doc come by in the morning.”  
“ _Dad.”_ Billy whines as he leans over to press a kiss to his forehead.  
“No arguments, I’ll bring you some Tylenol, try not to suffocate in there.” He gestures to the blanket cocoon Billy has twisted himself into.

He brings him some pills and water, reminding FRIDAY to have some soup and ginger ale brought to the apartment for when Billy is ready to eat. He hates it when his kids are sick, but there’s something soothingly domestic, grounded, about taking care of them. He only wishes it wore off the sharp edges of what he’s feeling long enough to make a real impact, but as he asks FRIDAY where Peter is, he can feel it setting in again.

When he enters his study he has FRIDAY lock down the door behind him, ensuring no one can hear what they say, or override the lock. This will stay between them. Peter is frozen nervously in the centre of the room, back in his regular clothes, backpack abandoned on the floor by the chair across from Tony’s desk. He looks like a child waiting to be scolded.

This isn’t where he’d have chosen to have this conversation, but, he supposes, it’s as good a room as any. Why should he get to have a reprieve?

Peter watches him with wide, terrified eyes as he brushes past him, headed straight for the drinks cart behind the desk. He pours himself a stiff drink with the first bottle his hands find, not caring much what he ends up with, at the moment. When he turns back, Peter hasn’t moved from his spot between the desk and the adjacent chair, still watching him like he expects Tony to explode at any second. Instead, he sits.

“Do the boys know?” Peter swallows visibly, and nods.  
“Yeah.” Tony lets out a heavy sigh, not sure how to feel.  
“Are they _involved_ ?”  
“No! No, I haven’t- they-” Peter takes a step closer to the desk, hands gesturing to assure him that the boys aren’t involved as he struggles to find his words. “They know, a bit, but I haven’t told them everything.”  
“You shouldn’t have told them _anything_ .” Tony doesn’t yell, but Peter flinches back, still. Sinking into the chair behind him.  
“I know.” He says quietly, ashamed.

Neither of them speak, for a moment, and Peter surprises him by being the one to break the silence.   
“I took them out, once. Just for practice!” He assures Tony, quickly, still seeming unsure that speaking is the right thing to do at all, but unable to bear the silence any longer. “We- there was no one, just practicing getting around with their powers, y’know.” He shrugs, hanging his head. Tony- Tony can’t believe Peter would be so damn stupid, knowing how many enemies the boys already have just by virtue of being his sons.

“Parker-” He starts, livid.  
“They just want to be like you!” Peter cuts him off. “They just want to be heroes. Like you.” There’s something left unsaid there, and Tony doesn’t care to find out what it is. “Please don’t be mad at them.”

“First of all, _do not_ interrupt me again. Second, you’re damn right I’m angry, Peter. I’m angry at them, and right now, I’m angrier at _you_ .” Peter says nothing, looking thoroughly ashamed. Good. “I don’t like being lied to, Peter. Especially not when it comes to the safety of my kids.”   
“I’m s-” Peter cuts himself off at the look Tony sends him. He doesn’t want another apology, he wants Peter to do better than that. “I- I never should have put them at risk.”   
“You never should have put yourself at risk!” Tony yells, finally unable to hold back as he stands up from his chair, putting his drink down so rough is spills and stalking around the desk as Peter sinks back further into his chair, eyes wet.

“Of _course_ I’m angry that my kids lied to me, that you helped them, but _you could have died, too_ , do you get that? Do you think I’m _okay_ with that? Did you think I wouldn’t feel responsible for that, if something happened to you?” He’s looming now, knows he should probably back up, be less in Peter’s face, but the energy burning under his skin is too intense to stop himself.  
“Wh- why would you-” Peter stammers, Tony knows what he’s trying to ask before he can finish.  
“Because I _let you go_ ! I let you go when I saw you in costume, fighting armed men in fucking sweatpants, I let you go when you promised me you were safe. I _believed_ you, Peter. You lied to me and I let you, because-” Tony chokes on his own words.

Even now, even when he wants to tear Peter apart, he _can’t_. He moves to walk away, but Peter’s touch stops him. A light hand around his wrist. He can feel him shaking.

“You what, Mr. Stark?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you're ready to see Tony flex his Poor Decision Making Skills™ in the next chapter?


	6. Chapter 6

When he reaches out he can barely bring himself to wrap a hand around Mr. Stark’s wrist, terrified of how the older man will react. He lets him though, doesn’t pull away from his grip. Peter swallows, nervous- terrified, even, but he can’t- he has to know.

“You what, Mr. Stark?” He pushes, hesitant but determined.

He’s stuck in limbo, other hand white knuckling the arm of the chair he’s in hard enough that he must be close to breaking it, until Mr. Stark slowly turns back to him, not dislodging his hand. He feels too aware of his breathing, his erratic heartbeat rattling hard enough to hurt in his chest, when Mr. Stark lifts the arm he’s holding and grips the side of his jaw, firm, but gentle. Peter can smell the spilled liquor on his hand.

He still doesn’t speak as his thumb brushes over the bottom edge of Peter’s lip, where his mouth hangs open, and Peter’s skin burns.

“You sleeping with the Osborn kid, for information?” And that’s- that’s not at all what Peter expected to hear, but Tony isn’t hiding the jealousy in his voice, for once, not even trying, it feels good. So, so good to hear his voice pitched low, rough with the force of it. Tony- he doesn’t know exactly what he’s thinking, here, but he wants him and he’s finally willing to show it.

Pulse hammering, he tightens his hold on Mr. Stark’s wrist, just a little, and brings his other hand up so shaking fingertips brush up over the fabric covering his thigh.  
“No.” He promises, quietly. “He’s never touched me.”  
“What about you?” Peter’s brows go up, not sure what Mr. Stark means. “Did you touch him?”  
“No.” He breathes.  
“Did you want to?”  
“No! No, I- just you, Mr. Stark.” He doesn’t miss the way Tony’s grip tightens. “I only want you.” He finishes, clear despite the burn in his cheeks.

“How do I know you mean it, kid?” Tony asks, clearly leading. Peter is more than eager to follow. “You’ve lied a lot, after all. I clearly can’t be trusted to keep any perspective, here.”  
“Please,” Peter begs, he’s nervous, so nervous he can feel it in his bones, but he flattens his palm over Mr. Stark’s thigh, dragging it upwards until his hand slips over the concealed bulge of the older man’s cock. The feeling of Mr. Stark under his hand makes his own throb in his jeans and he thinks he might be shaking with the near-suffocating adrenalin flooding his system. “Let me show you how much I mean it, Mr. Stark.” He swallows, rough, hardly able to believe he’s found it in himself to say what he’s saying as he does his best to massage Tony through his pants. “I-I know you don’t want to listen to me apologize again, but you don’t have to. I can show you how sorry I am. Please?”

Tony says nothing, but he doesn’t pull away from his touch. Emboldened, Peter grips him harder, feeling the shape of his cock through his trousers. He keeps his eyes pointed upwards, holding Tony’s gaze. A rough thumb slips over his lip again and Peter’s heart is in his throat as he follows his instinct, slipping his tongue out to caress it. It pays off when Tony makes a low noise, pushing his thumb into his mouth as Peter feels Tony’s cock twitch under his touch. His thumb is rough against Peter’s tongue, worn from years of working on his machines, and the further into his mouth he pushes the harder Peter gets.

Mr. Stark’s thumb is thick, it feels surprisingly large in his mouth when he closes his lips around it, doing his best to suck properly. He can’t help the small moan that slips from his lungs when he considers how much bigger Tony’s cock will feel, it makes his mouth water and his heart beats hard with eager nerves. He’s still soft through his suit pants, but already so much bigger than the thumb in his mouth. Peter can feel him growing hotter through the fabric.

Tony’s eyes are so, so intent on his face, his cheeks are flaming but it feels impossible to break away from his eyes.

When Tony pulls his thumb back from his mouth, keeping hold of his jaw, Peter’s not sure how much time has passed. He drags his thumb over his cheek, smearing Peter’s own saliva across his skin.  
“Mr. Stark,” Peter pleads, not missing the way Tony’s eyes narrow. “Please.” He can see the muscles of Tony’s jaw clench as he visibly grinds his teeth. He’s so close, he can, quite literally feel it, Tony is close to giving in.

He pushes forward against Mr. Stark’s grip and the older man allows it, hand slipping back to wrap around his nape as he moves, forcing Peter’s own hand to lose its grip, fingers winding into the curls at the base of his neck. He can’t keep his breaths steady as he leans forward to press his lips to the soft fabric over Tony’s cock, pressing a chaste kiss to him as he allows his eyes to slip shut, inhaling deeply. With his enhanced senses, the scent of the other man is deeply apparent, filling his lungs until it’s all he can think about. He thinks he probably shouldn’t enjoy it this much, but he doesn’t care. He’s wanted this so much, for so long, he’ll take anything Tony will let him have.

Opening his mouth against the fabric which drags, just a little rough, under his lips, he lets his tongue flatten and trail over Tony’s clothed cock as his own hands slip down to flatten over Mr. Stark’s thighs, needing balance for how overwhelmed by sensation and desire he feels. He moans as he pulls his tongue back to suck another kiss into the fabric.  
“Please.” He tries again, half desperate, and only tangentially aware of his own words.

Mr. Stark’s hand drags him back and he whines, not wanting to leave behind the vague taste of the man he’d been able to glean through the fabric.

* * *

* * *

From the moment he touches Peter’s skin, he knows he’s making a mistake. In a huge, irrevocable way, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Peter, sweet, ridiculous Peter who has spent the last two years talking his boys through the hardest time in their young lives, coming by every other day bruised by bullies because he can’t not do the right thing, looking up at him with something that started as hero worship and morphed into- into this. Peter could have died, and as much as he risks in acting on these things he shouldn’t feel, shouldn’t want in the first place, he feels he risks more by holding back.

Peter whines as he drags him back, away from his cock, and Tony is certain he might die. Peter is sixteen.

Sixteen.

Sixteen.

He could swear he’d started out repeating that to himself to dissuade himself from doing this, but now it’s just making it even more impossible to stop. To even think about stopping. Peter is staring up at him, looking dazed and desperate, cheeks ruddy with eager embarrassment, eyes still a little glassy from his earlier tears.

“You ever done this before?” He’s surprised how rough his voice comes out, so early on. He already knows the answer to the question, but he wants- needs to hear it.  
“No.” Peter manages, heat swells inside of him and he knows already, there’s no stopping. He can’t undo what’s already happened, it’s only a matter of time, now, so why not let himself have this. Take this, this thing Peter can never get back.  
“It’s been years since I’ve been with a virgin.” He notes, absentmindedly. Peter seems to take something about this as a challenge, or, perhaps, a threat? His grip tightens over Tony’s thighs, a desperation creeping into his expression, his voice.

“Please, please, Mr. Stark.” Tony can’t help but shiver at the way he says it. He’s heard ‘Mr. Stark’ a thousand times a day for years on end, at work, but there’s something about the way Peter says it, like Tony is so clearly above him, everything he’s not, everything he wants to be. Adult, Avenger, hero. It almost makes him sick how much he loves hearing it from Peter’s sweet mouth.

“I swear I- I’ll make it good. Mr. Stark.” He begs, those wide eyes that could make Tony give him everything he wants and then some. He already knows he’s going to say yes, going to shove his cock past those pretty lips until Peter chokes, but he lets him keep speaking just to hear him beg so nicely. “I- if you just tell me what you want. I’ll do it, Mr. Stark, I’ll do anything you tell me to do.” Tony knows he means it and his mind spins with all the possible things he could ask of Peter, all of the ways he could have him, the firsts he could take.

There’s just one more thing he needs to hear, from Peter, because as bad as he wants him, he cares about him just a little more.

“Tell me one thing.” He asks, voice steady, aiming for a commanding tone. It seems to work well enough, Peter’s gaze gaining some strained focus that eluded him a moment ago. “Are you doing this to apologize, cause you feel like you have to, or because you want to?”  
“I want to.” Peter insists, not a second of hesitation. “I want you to- for you to-” Peter stammers, seemingly so overcome by his own words that he can’t manage to get them out. Slow, heavy heat is swirling up through Tony’s gut and chest at the nervousness of it.  
“You want what, Peter?” The boy takes a deep breath, Tony can see him struggling not to avert his eyes.  
“I want to know what you taste like.” Peter manages, finally. The words seeming to throw him physically off kilter. “Only you. Before anyone else.”

And that’s- well, it’s pretty damn cheesy, just this side of ridiculous, but it just serves to make him feel Peter’s inexperience that much more intensely and christ, if he wasn’t done for already, he’d stand even less of a chance, now. He sighs and steps back, but his hand doesn’t leave Peter’s neck. Smart boy that he is, Peter pitches forward with his movements, slipping down onto his knees with wide eyes and shuffling forward as Tony leans back against the desk, one hand wrapped around the edge of it.

Peter looking up at him from his knees, it’s something he’s spent more time than he’s willing to admit thinking about. It’s even better than he imagined. He can’t help thinking how he’s perfect there, made to be put on his knees, and wonders how incredible he’ll look on his back, split open over his cock. Not tonight, but not never. Not after this.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter presses, quiet but urgent from his spot at Tony’s feet. Right. He’s been quiet for a while.  
“Yeah.” He tugs Peter forward gently. “Come on, kid. Show me what you’ve got.” Peter’s face lights up, a little part disbelieve, the rest split between excitement and obvious nerves. He reaches up for Tony’s belt, and it’s impossible not to notice the trembling of his hands as he fumbles with it. It pulls a painfully aroused groan from his chest. The worst and best part is that, somehow, Peter really doesn’t seem to realize what he’s doing. He’s still attractive when he’s trying, but he’s at his best when he lets his nerves show.

Peter gets him unzipped and unbuttoned, visibly trying to get hold of his breathing, failing miserably. It makes Tony ache. He looks a little lost, so Tony pushes forward pointedly, just enough to jar Peter from his haze and make it easy for him to slip Tony’s trousers and briefs down his hips until they’re resting over his thighs. Peter watches every inch of skin revealed with devastating hunger in his eyes, gaze hot as the root of his cock is revealed.

As Tony slips free entirely, Peter makes a small, choked noise. He’s not sure what the boy is thinking, but he likes the way he sounds, looks, as he’s thinking it. Peter takes a deep breath, bringing one hand up to steady himself on Tony’s hip and slowly raising the other shaking hand to wrap his still mostly-soft cock in hand.

“It won’t bite.” Tony quips, unable to resist. Peter’s colour deepens as he glances up at him, trying to glare but failing miserably under the combined weight of nerves and arousal.  
“I-I know that.” He mutters, embarrassed. Tony grins, and then Peter’s hand is on him, soft, warm, tentative. He runs his hand experimentally over him, like he had when Tony had still been buttoned up, cupping him, adjusting to the feel of another man’s cock in his hand, seemingly enthralled, if not a little intimidated, by the feel it of. It’s torture, in a way, staying still while Peter studies him so intently, but he has no desire to put a stop to it.

Finally, he wraps a hand around the base, fingers sliding up to stroke over him slowly, clearly savouring the stretch and slide of Tony’s skin under his fingers.  
“It’s- you’re… bigger. Than I expected.” He informs Tony, looking up at him despite his obvious mortification at his own words. Tony’s never been particularly ashamed of his body, or really even a little bit ashamed, not even the modicum some might argue is required for the sake of common decency, but Peter’s words certainly don’t hurt.

“Worried?” He asks, just to be an asshole, fingers lightly massaging the back of Peter’s neck. Peter inhales sharply, looking alarmed, like he really thinks Tony might still tell him no.  
“No!” He insists. “No, I- I can take it, Mr. Stark. I promise.” Christ. Tony laughs, just a little. Like he’d have any idea what he can and can’t take, just yet.  
“Relax, kid. You’ve got your hand on my dick already, you really think I’d have let you get this far if I didn’t want you to finish?” Peter shakes his head, looking a little abashed.

He steadies himself, then, looking back down to Tony’s cock as he begins to work his hand over him in earnest. It’s clumsy, between Tony’s softness and Peter’s unfamiliarity with the angle of it, but he loves every awkward second of it. Peter’s clear concern that he’s somehow not doing enough, not being enough, that he’ll mess up, the obvious inexperience in his movements, it gets him going like little else, thick pleasure spreading through him as Peter keeps glancing up at him, eyes wide, searching for approval.

It’s a too little dry, a little coarse, but Tony is half hard anyways as he tugs Peter forward, just enough for him to get the message. He looks up at Tony, nervous, and Tony gentles his grip.  
“Show me how much you mean it, Peter.” It’s a little mean, but his tone is soothing. Neither is an accident. Peter holds his gaze for a long moment, hand slowing it’s slide, before his eyes drop back to his cock and it ceases moving all together, slipping down to grip the base of him firmly.

Lifting his cock, Peter gives himself a small shake, gathering himself, and leans forward. His eyes flutter shut as he ducks down slightly to press a shy kiss to the tip of his cock. Tony moans at the sight of it, the warm, barely-there tickle of his lips pushing the hot pressure of arousal building in his gut to pulse. His reaction seems to fortify Peter’s confidence, and he lets his lips slip open over the head of his cock, tongue slipping out to swirl clumsily around it.

Peter seems happy with what he finds, moaning a little, small and likely unrealized, as he pushes himself a little further, beginning to apply actual suction. His teeth catch over the head of Tony, just a little, but he finds he doesn’t mind. He’s always liked it a little rough, and it’s well worth the sight of his cock disappearing between spit slicked lips, cheeks flush and eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

Bringing his hand up higher to rest over the back of Peter’s head properly, fingers threading through his soft waves, Tony guides Peter gently, just enough to help him find an easy rhythm.  
“That’s it, baby.” He encourages, watching as Peter sucks him down so sweetly, head bobbing over the length of him with some newfound regularity. Peter moans and it’s only years of experience that stops him from thrusting forward with the sensation of it. “Look at me, Peter.” He commands.

Peter’s eyes open, drifting up to look at Tony. He looks vaguely mortified and his pupils are blown wide. Tony’s hand slips down to stroke over his cheek, finger tracing the stretch of his lips. “That’s it, you’re doing so well. Why don’t you try taking me a little deeper? Can you do that for me?” Peter moans around his cock. Tony grins. “Of course you can."

He doesn’t push, knowing Peter will be eager to push himself, try to please him, and the next time Peter sinks down on his cock he pushes himself down further, nowhere near the back of his throat but enough that Tony can see the bulge of his cock in Peter’s hollowed out cheeks. Christ, he looks pretty like this. Tony’s pretty sure he’s never going to be able to let him go, after this. Can’t imagine not wanting it again.

Tony is fully hard, now, and Peter gets a little too confident, pushing down until he gags and jerks back out of instinct, messy and coughing, eyes immediately squeezing shut again.

“I-I’m sorry. Mr. Stark.” He manages between coughs, looking back up to Tony with tears in his eyes. “I can do better, I promise. Please don’t make me stop.” He’s mostly regained his breath but there are still tears threatening to spill from his eyes, Tony drags a hand through his hair, soothing.  
“Don’t worry, I know you will, Peter.” He’s a smart kid, after all.

Tony guides him back onto his cock, not protesting when Peter takes his time, lingering to suckle at the head of him, collecting the thick bead of liquid that’s collected there. He’s making small, wet moans slipping free that Tony’s not even entirely certain Peter is aware of.

“How’s it taste, baby?” He asks, teasing just a little as he remembers Peter’s earlier whine. Peter looks up at him as he breathes his answer against his cock, lips still brushing the skin of him.  
“Good.” He swears. “Great.” Then he sinks back down over his cock, further this time, and Tony lets out something between a laugh and a moan.  
“You are a little liar, aren’t you?” He replies, breathless. Peter works to hold his gaze and his eyes widen a fraction. “Bet you love it anyways, though, don’t you? Christ, Peter. Begging me not to stop you, you’re a bit of a whore, huh?” He bites out. The edge to it is more desperate than mean. He loves seeing Peter like this, he’d never want anything else. Unfortunately for him, Peter pulls back.

“Only for you, Mr. Stark.” He promises, a little desperate, a lot turned on.  
“Yeah?” Tony breathes, liking the idea of it a little too much. Peter, his, only his.  
“Yeah.” Tony knows his arousal is getting the best of him, but he can’t help slipping his other hand from the desk, bringing both to cup Peter’s face.  
“You trust me?” Peter nods. “You wanna try and get me all the way down, kid?” Peter’s grip over his hips goes tight.  
“Yes.” He swears, vehement. “I want that, Mr. Stark, I want that so bad. I- I don’t care if it hurts. Please?”

Somehow, despite everything, Peter still manages to be so much more than he deserves.

“Just relax for me, I won’t stop you from pulling back when it gets to be too much, alright?” Peter nods, near frantic.  
“Sure, I don’t even care.” Tony laughs, easier said than done when he hasn’t even tried it, yet.  
“Confident.”  
“Horny.” Peter corrects, and, well. Tony can’t argue with that.

Peter does as he asks, visibly relaxing, and he half expects his eyes to slip shut when his cock grazes Peter’s lips, but he holds Tony’s gaze steadily. He goes slow, both for Peter’s sake and his own, the drag of his cock down Peter’s tongue long and drawn out. When he nears the back of Peter’s throat, the boy’s eyes start to water, and he can see a strained flush creeping up his neck, but he doesn’t pull back.

He doesn’t quite make it all the way before sputtering, but it’s a near thing, and Tony makes sure he knows it as he jerks back, struggling not to choke.  
“So good, Peter. So good. Taking me so damn deep already, you’re made for this, baby.” Peter looks up at him with slightly unfocused eyes.  
“Again. I want to try again.” He begs, who is Tony to say no?

Peter sinks down again and again, taking him a little deeper each time and barely having to pull off as long a Tony goes slow enough, giving him a moment to recover every time he sinks down. When his nose finally sinks into the thatch of curls at the base of his cock, balls resting against his chin, he feels incredible, and he looks nearly as good.

Tight, warm heat flutters and squeezes over his cock as Peter gurgles around him, trying to swallow out of instinct and fighting it at the same time. He’s flushed all the way down to his collar and there are tears streaming down his face from the stress of repressing his gag reflex, but he still manages to hold Tony’s gaze. He’s gorgeous.

He presses his luck, just a little, pushing up into Peter’s face, hands tightening their grip. Peter chokes and his fingers dig into Tony’s thighs hard enough to bruise, but he doesn’t pull off. Tony knows he’s strong, knows if he really wanted to stop there’s nothing he could do to stop him, which just emphasizes the knowledge that Peter, sweet Peter who has never in his life touched another man’s cock, wants this enough to hurt for it.

The thought has his balls tightening and he pulls back, letting Peter slip off his cock entirely as he gasps for air.

“You did so good, Peter. I shouldn’t have doubted you, baby. I see how badly you want it.” Peter whines and Tony pulls him close with one hand, using the other to take hold of himself. He strokes himself, slow and tight, holding Peter so his cock is brushing over his lips, smearing precome messily over and around them, slipping up onto his cheeks a little here and there. Peter is staring up at him with eyes gone dark, flush high in his cheeks, hair a mess.  
“Thanks, Mr. Stark.” His voice has gone hoarse from the exertion of having Tony’s cock stuffed down it repeatedly.  
“Christ, Peter. You don’t even-” Peter’s tongue comes out to brush over his lips, tasting the liquid gathered there.

“Please, Mr. Stark.” He begs, again. Still not quite comfortable, but clearly past the point of caring. “I really want it.” He insists, the nerves in his eyes belie the confidence of his words, and that’s what pushes him over the edge. Orgasm drags through him with enough strength to squeeze the air from his lungs as he spills himself over Peter’s face, going tense all over as he struggles not to look away, not wanting to miss a moment of Peter’s expression. Nervous, aroused, a little surprised as Tony’s come lands across his face and in his mouth.

Unthinking, Tony pushes forward, dragging his cock over Peter’s face, rubbing his come into the boy’s skin. Peter still looks a little stunned, but nonetheless tilts his head to the side to nuzzle into the cock against his face, placing a small kiss to the side of it. Tony groans and lets himself slump back against the desk, head tilting back as his hands finally release both Peter and himself to grip the desk, legs having gone boneless.

For a moment he just breathes, he knows, beyond a doubt, that any second now the reality of what he’s done will begin to sink in. He knew from the start.

Peter whines, and stumbles to his feet without even bothering to wipe the mess off his face, listing forward and reaching for Tony like he intends to kiss him. Tony’s hand flies out faster than he’d have thought himself capable of, at the moment, to stop him, fingers curling in his t-shirt.

“No.” He says, voice hard. For a moment, Peter looks stricken, then confused. He whines and that’s when Tony notices his discomfort, he’s shifting desperately from side to side, hand reaching down to squeeze himself through his jeans. Christ.  
“Please.” He borderline sobs. “Mr. Stark, I can’t-”  
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry kid.” Tony swallows, unable to think past the bulge in Peter’s jeans and the sheen of sweat over his brow. He lets go and steps to the side, distancing himself from Peter. The boy looks confused, but this time he doesn’t try to follow.

“Take off your pants and get on the desk.” Peter makes a desperate, painful sound and hurries to comply. Struggling with his jeans until he’s able to yank them off with his shoes simultaneously, Tony’s almost certain he hears a rip. When he leans back against the desk, reaching for the waist of his underwear, Tony lets himself step forward so he can sink into the chair across from Peter.

Peter’s flush deepens, spreading down his chest as he hesitates slightly over the waistband, avoiding Tony’s eyes when he finally slips his underwear down over his hips to fall the rest of the way to the floor. When he sees the mess inside, Tony has to tuck himself back into his trousers so he won’t be tempted. It’s clear Peter’s already gotten off once, entirely untouched, while he was sucking his cock and yet there he is, desperate as ever again.

“Get on the desk.” Tony repeats, voice near-broken. “And look at me.” He instructs as Peter hops up onto the desk to comply, swollen cock bobbing as he moves. He struggles to meet his eyes, and Tony is fully, severely aware of the fact that this is easily the most exposed Peter has ever been in front of anyone. It makes him want to push. Break every boundary so thoroughly that Peter can’t remember what it felt like when they were intact.

* * *

* * *

Shame burns through Peter when Mr. Stark sees the mess he’s made of his underwear, but the need to get off is too strong to hide it for long.

He hops up onto the desk and forces himself to meet Mr. Stark’s eyes, just like the older man instructed him to. He thinks the feeling of exposure can’t get any more intense, tangible, but of course, he’s wrong.

“Bring your legs up, keep them spread.” Peter chokes out a half-hysterical sob as he complies. He’s not crying, but his legs are shaking. He feels so, so painfully, humiliatingly overexposed, and even more desperate. He just wishes that Tony would touch him, put him out of his misery. He’s becoming increasingly aware of Mr. Stark’s come drying over his face, skin growing tight.

“Touch yourself.” There’s something that’s changed in Mr. Stark’s eyes. He wants him, that much is beyond clear, but something has gone distant, and Peter is desperate to bring it back, so he doesn’t hesitate, wrapping a hand around himself with a cry, still borderline too-sensitive from his last orgasm, and begins to stroke himself.

He’s clumsy and messy, uncoordinated and dazed, too aware of Mr. Stark’s eyes on him, constantly, not to be affected. A part of him struggles under the feeling, self-conscious and terrified, but the other part of him is deeply, impossibly aroused. Loves the feeling of being watched and told what to do. Exposed beyond reason. Loves it because it’s Mr. Stark, because for all his determination, some part of him feared he’d never get to have this.

It takes no time at all for him to reach his orgasm and it rips through him almost painfully, knocking the wind from him, pleasure and pain skittering over his skin as he spatters come across his stomach and chest, ruining his t-shirt with a choked off moan. Mr. Stark’s eyes stay firmly on him the entire time.

He’s panting when he falls back over the desk, legs slipping down to hang over the edge. He feels ruined, and Mr. Stark hadn’t even touched him.

He pushes himself up when he realizes it’s been silent a little too long and finds Mr. Stark slumped over in the chair, head buried in his hands. He gingerly slips off the desk, wiping his hands on is already ruined shirt, and steps forward, wanting to help. See what’s wrong.

“Mr. Stark?” He tries, tentative. He doesn’t even manage to touch him before the other man is standing suddenly enough to make the chair scrape back over the floor, loud in the otherwise silent room. He takes a step back, but looks otherwise less rattled than his position a second ago would have suggested. It makes Peter nervous.

“Put your clothes on, Peter.” He’s righting his own as he says it, and Peter can see the familiar shield coming down. He knows what this is, and he didn’t come this far for the brush off because Tony is incapable of confronting his own emotions. Especially when he knows he’s not actually as bad at it as he pretends to be.  
“Tony-” He tries, more intimate, stepping forward again but Tony side steps him, headed for the door already.

“No, I can’t- we can’t do this, Peter. I can’t be here.” Peter scoffs to hide the pang of hurt that flares through his chest, crossing his arms so he won’t reach down to tug his t-shirt lower and cover himself with it. He’s not the guilty one, here.  
“We already did this. You can’t take it back, Mr. Stark. I-I won’t-” Peter swallows against the lump forming in his throat. “I won’t let you do that to me.” His voice only barely manages not to crack, and he’s feeling caught off guard by the sudden swell of emotions in his chest.

It takes no time at all for the tears to fall, and even through blurry eyes he can see that Tony is torn. He looks physically caught between his own internal freak-out and the need to be there for him.

“Please, Mr. Stark.” He begs. He can hear the wetness in his own voice, and evidently it’s too much for Mr. Stark, too, because he lurches forward, pulling Peter into his arms and holding him so tight it’s almost hard to breath. He wraps his arms around Tony in return and buries his face in the older man’s neck, letting the tears fall quietly as Tony buries his face in his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple as he strokes his back.

“You’re alright.” Tony promises quietly, speaking into his hair. “I’ve got you, Peter. I’m sorry.”

They spend a while like that, Peter’s not sure how long, before he finally relaxes enough to let Mr. Stark step away with the promise that he’ll be back in a minute with some clean clothes and a washcloth.

He still won’t kiss him.

He gets back, and Peter gets cleaned up. He feels a little better afterwards, more together, but Mr. Stark seems to have a harder time looking at him when he’s wearing what are almost certainly clothes borrowed from the boys. It hurts, but he can understand.

They’re both leaning against the desk, now, not facing each other when Tony speaks.  
“I’m not saying this didn’t mean anything,” He starts, ominous. “It did, Peter, I don’t want you to think it didn’t alright? But we can’t do it again.” Peter feels a sinking devastation in his chest and he turns immediately to reach out for the older man.  
“Mr. Stark, you can’t- please-.” Tony catches his hands and lowers them, keeping them tight in his own.  
“Peter, please. I know you want this, I do too.” His voice goes rough over the last part, it’s the first time he’s really admitted it. Even to himself, Peter’s fairly certain. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I could go to prison for what we just did. For touching you.”

He bites his lip, holding back the protests he wants to make, because… Mr. Stark is right. Nothing changes that.  
“Only for a few more days.” He tries, quietly optimistic.  
“It’s not just the age, Peter. It’s- the boys, you’re their best friend. What kind of father would screw that up for them? Better-” He clears his throat. “Better that I lose you than they do.” And that- that’s just bullshit.  
“So what about me?” Peter demands, anger building in his chest. “What if I don’t want to lose you? I don’t get a say?”  
“Peter, please-”  
“No! No, who even says anyone has to lose anyone?!”

“Come on, you know that’s just the way-”  
“No!” Peter yells, pulling back and slipping away from the desk so he can face Mr. Stark directly, leaning into his space to grab him by the lapels and not allowing him to get away. “No.” He says again, quieter now that he can’t be ignored. “All I’m hearing is that I’m old enough for you to come on my face but not old enough for you to give me the time of day. Am I right?” He hopes dearly that his voice doesn’t give away just how afraid he is that Tony might say yes.

“No, christ, no. Peter-”  
“Well if it’s not that, then what is it? When will it be okay?” A little desperation slips into his voice at the end, and he can see in his eyes that Tony sees through him. He lets his head fall forward to rest against Tony’s chest as he takes a heaving breath. One of Tony’s hands comes up to soothe over his hair. He can hear the older man’s heavy heartbeat, feel the resigned breath he takes.

“How about you graduate high school, then we’ll talk?” Peter looks up at him, jaw dropping. That’s so far away.  
“What? No, no that’s a year and a half away!” He cries. Does Tony think he’ll give up in that time? Because he won’t, but that definitely doesn’t mean he wants to wait, either.  
“So graduate early.” Tony shrugs, other hand coming up to brush over his waist in what Peter thinks is supposed to be incentive. “I know you can.” Peter groans and Tony laughs before standing up to push him away, gently but firm.

“Promise me a date.” Tony looks a little taken aback, a little amused, by Peter’s sudden insistence. “Promise me I get a date when I finish high school and I’ll leave you alone, until then.” He bites his lip, sensing Tony’s hesitance. “If you promise me the date I promise I’ll be easy, after.” He grins, a little sly, and Tony bursts out laughing. It’s a little embarrassing, but it gets the job done.  
“Fine. Finish high school, get a date. You can decide then how easy you’re going to be. Sound good?”  
“Sounds good.” Peter smiles.

After that, he still doesn’t love leaving, but it’s easier. He isn’t plagued by the same heavy dread he was before. He’s got to come back to the tower in the morning, there’s still things that need to be discussed, as far as the whole ‘caught being Spider-Man and also helping your sons to be superheroes behind your back’ mess goes, but he knows he can get through that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually meant to end much sadder, guess I just felt bad? Oops?

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you're all enjoying this because I'm having a _ton_ of fun writing it. Find me here or [on tumblr](https://dirtybirdie.tumblr.com/)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/dirtbirdie) if you've got any requests or just want to say hello ♥
> 
>  P.S. Tommy is my fave and I will defend his honour with my mighty fists.


End file.
